The Lost Path
by VampireNaomi
Summary: Count Rochefort is feeling lost after his last duel with Dogtanian and decides to go on a journey to clear his mind.
1. Chapter 1

Dogtanian and the Three Muskehounds is copyrighted to BRB Internacional.

The story will include some minor OC/OC het, but other than that it's completely pairing-free.

**THE LOST PATH**

**Chapter 1**

He was late.

The thick forest around him was silent safe for the click of his horse's hooves and the occasional rustle from the bushes. It was the night of the full moon, but the branches above the small forest path let barely any light through them, leaving the forest shrouded in darkness.

This didn't trouble the lone traveller. His horse was trained to find its way even in pitch black nights, and he trusted the animal completely. What he was more worried about was that he should have arrived at a town by sunset. It meant that either he was lost or the people in the previous town had lied to him, neither of which was an option to his liking.

Count Rochefort growled under his breath when the next turn of the road didn't reveal even the slightest sign of him getting closer to something resembling civilization. He had been on the road for three days now since departing from the previous town, and he was quickly growing tired of sleeping out in the open.

It was almost two weeks since he had left Paris and retired his sword. The first was a decision he didn't regret, as it had got him away from Cardinal Richelieu and Dogtanian who both annoyed him, though for completely different reasons. Giving up his sword was another matter, and there were times when he thought the decision, and especially the loud declaration in front of the Musketeers had been too rash, a mistake made in a foolish outburst of feeling and hurt honour.

There was no way of going back though, and his honour, or what was left of it, would become even more stained if he took back his word and picked up his sword again. No, he would have to come up with something else now. That was the main reason of his travel; he needed to clear his head after what had happened in Paris and find a new direction for his life, preferably something that had nothing to do with the King's Musketeers.

When his thoughts started circling around that topic again, he quickly pushed them away and concentrated on the dark road ahead of him. The Musketeers were something he didn't want to think about for reasons that he couldn't even begin to admit to himself. Maybe he would ponder them and his own actions in the past once he felt his life was stable again, but right now he had too many other problems in mind.

Finding that cursed town was currently the prominent one. It was on moments like this when Rochefort regretted sending his squire back home. Not having anyone to give orders to when things got difficult made him feel like he wasn't in charge of the situation.

His horse suddenly slowed down and Rochefort realised that there was someone on the road ahead of him. He hadn't even noticed the other traveller in the dark.

"Who's there? Get out of my way! I'm busy," he called out. Now that he was closer, even he could recognise the form of a small wagon, pulled by another horse.

"I'm sorry, there's no room," a voice replied back. It was male and sounded young, maybe a little over twenty years old.

"I hate these country roads," Rochefort muttered, but he had to admit that the man ahead of him was right; there really was no way to move the wagon anywhere but forwards. He would just have to follow it at this painfully slow speed.

"What's your name, traveller?" the other man asked him.

"I'm Henri Fort," Rochefort replied automatically. It was a stupid alias and anyone who knew who he really was would have laughed at it, but it was the first thing that had popped into his mind when he had realised that he couldn't travel using his real name. Better yet, it was fairly common and wouldn't make anyone suspicious.

"My name is Didier Abrial. Nice to meet you. I rarely see other travellers on this road, especially at night," the younger man said. A hesitant tone crept into his voice and Rochefort realised that the lad probably thought he was a bandit of some sort.

"I'm an accountant on my way to serve my master in Spain," Rochefort said. That was part of the little story he had cooked up to justify his adventure whenever some overly curious soul asked him about it.

"I should have arrived to a town by now, but I think I'm lost," he continued.

"Oh, it's not far from here. I'm also going there. It's where I live," Didier said.

Well, at least there was one good point about being stuck in the forest with some country bumpkin. By following him, Rochefort would find his way to the town he had been looking for and could finally have a decent meal and sleep well.

"And what are you doing out here in the middle of the night?" he asked.

"I'm the blacksmith's apprentice, and I was selling our goods in the next town. I wanted to get back home before sunset, but I'm awfully late," Didier said.

With a horse like that, it's no surprise, Rochefort thought to himself. He didn't say anything else, and Didier didn't seem to be the talkative type either. It suited Rochefort just fine because he wasn't interested in making friends with everyone he came across. Unfortunately, most people he met were somehow drawn to him and enjoyed his company, even when he was being downright rude to scare them off.

After about a half an hour, they got out of the forest and Rochefort could spot the lights of the town. There weren't many, and he was a little disappointed to see how small the town was. He had been expecting something a little more glamorous.

"Do you have an inn here?" he asked. He would rather go back to the forest than sleep in some peasant's house.

"Yes, just follow me. I'm going there, too," Didier said. He led Rochefort onwards on the narrow streets. On closer inspection, the town didn't look that bad. It seemed like they had some stores, a small marketplace, and the reason everything had seemed to little was that most houses didn't have light in their windows.

The inn Didier led him to was a fairly large building, and it was one of the few lit ones they had come across. The minute they arrived to the front yard, the door was thrown open and a young woman dashed out.

"Didier! Where have you been?" she asked with a mixture of annoyance and relief in her voice.

"The trip back took longer than I expected, that's all," Didier said reassuringly and smiled down at her.

Rochefort dismounted his horse and in the light pouring from the in, he could finally take a good look at the man who had accompanied him from the forest.

Didier was indeed a young man, as he had expected. His pointy years, large eyes and black-and-white fur made him look joyful and carefree, and he was dressed in simple clothing. He was strongly built, and Rochefort had no trouble imagining him in a smithy. All in all, he wouldn't have stood out in any of the rural towns Rochefort had visited.

The woman by his side was by no means a special sight, either. She was dark brown, probably some kind of spaniel, and while she couldn't exactly be described as round, she had the figure of someone who had never had to starve in her life. She appeared to be about the same age as Didier.

"Oh! You've brought a guest!" the woman exclaimed, finally tearing her attention from Didier and turning it to Rochefort. Immediately, she called out to someone inside the inn, "Hey, Paul! Get in here and get the monsieur's horse into the stable!"

"Do you have free rooms?" Rochefort asked after a young stable boy had taken his horse away.

"Of course, come right in. I'll get everything ready in a minute," the woman said.

"I have to get home or Picard is going to kill me. I'll probably see you tomorrow, alright?" Didier said to the woman as he turned the horse and the wagon around. "Goodnight, monsieur Fort!"

"Bye!" the woman called out after him. Then she turned to Rochefort and asked him to follow her inside.

The inn was filled with people, almost all of them seemingly peasants. Rochefort didn't particularly enjoy the idea of spending a night among them, but he reminded himself that tomorrow morning he would be on his way towards other places. And this was better than the forest, after all.

"My name is Amélie. My father owns the inn," the woman leading him said. She pointed at a round man who was laughing among the guests, oblivious to anything else that was going on.

"I'm Henri Fort. I would like to have a room for one night. And something to eat before I go to bed," Rochefort said.

Amélie nodded at him. "Right away. You can pick yourself a table and I'll bring you today's meal," she said. At that exact moment, one of the guests called out to her and she rushed over to hear their order. For a while, Rochefort watched how she took orders from at least three people at the same time, joked with an old man, avoided the kiss of a drunkard and giggled when someone slapped her on the bum.

She's very effective with her work, he thought once he'd had enough and decided to sit down. He chose a lone table near the edges of the room, but not the farthest one. He had quickly learnt that sitting alone in the loneliest corner made people curious and someone would always come over to talk to him. No, it was better to appear completely normal.

Unfortunately, that didn't seem to work in this inn. He had barely had the time to sit down and take off his hat when the innkeeper was already towering over him and flashing him the most disarming smile in the world. Had he been a more naïve person, Rochefort would have believed he had just made a new best friend.

"Welcome to my inn! I'm Philippe Gagne and I hope you'll enjoy your stay," the man said. Despite the fact that he and Amélie were of completely different colour, they were obviously the same breed and clearly related.

"I'm not planning to stay for long," Rochefort said.

Gagne continued smiling, like he hadn't even heard the impatient tone in Rochefort's voice. He invited himself over to the Count's table and sat down, laying his hands on the table. The idea of telling him to get lost crossed Rochefort's mind, but he decided that being rude to the owner would only get him into unwanted trouble, and he didn't want to risk his meal and warm bed.

"Most people don't stay in our town, I'm sad to say," Gagne said. "So, where are you going?"

"Spain," Rochefort replied. When Gagne shot a curious glance at him, he continued, "My master bought some farmland there and needs me to measure how much it's worth."

"Well, you've got a long way to go, then. Be sure to ask my Amélie to get you some of our wine. It's on me," Gagne said.

"I appreciate the offer, but I have to be on my way early," Rochefort said.

"Nonsense! Hey, Amélie! Bring this gentleman some wine, will you?" Gagne said to his daughter who was just coming over with Rochefort's food.

"Yes, papa," she said as she put the plate down on the table. "Papa, Uncle Jean is drunk again. Maybe you should do something about him," she said then.

"I don't think there's anything that can be done about that old drunkard," Gagne sighed but got up. "Enjoy your food, monsieur Fort."

Rochefort thanked the man briefly, glad that he could at least have his meal in peace. As he ate, he looked at the rest of the inn from the corner of his eye, careful to make it seem like he was only interested in his food. The other guests were drinking in groups, but there was little of the usual laughter and joking that he had learnt to expect in inns. It seemed like everyone had something serious to discuss with each other, and Rochefort guessed that there was something going on in the local area.

He was brought back from his thoughts when Amélie appeared with the wine. Rochefort thought about asking her if the atmosphere in the inn was that gloomy every night, but at the last moment, he decided that he didn't want to know about the problems these peasants had.

"Hope you like the wine. It's our best," she said as she poured some into his mug.

Rochefort suspected that it wouldn't come even close to what he had drunk in Paris and at home, but he thanked her nevertheless.

"Do you always offer free drinks to strangers?" he asked after taking a sip. He was surprised to notice that the wine was actually good, and that eased his sour mood a little.

Amélie giggled. "Papa is very generous and he likes to see new faces around here. If I wasn't here, he'd probably ruin us by not accepting money from the customers," she said.

Just then, the door flew open and three dogs stepped inside. In an instant, the inn became silent as a grave and everyone turned away from the newcomers, not wanting to do anything to get their attention.

"Oh, dear," Amélie muttered under her breath.

Rochefort looked at the strangers and it took him only a second to see that the three of them were troublemakers. The tallest one, obviously the leader, was a slim dog with short brownish fur and black spots. The other two, a black dog with pointy ears and a curly tail and a smaller brown dog, were following him like shadows. All three had swords hanging on their belts. The way they marched into the inn, grinning like they owned the place, told Rochefort that they were used to getting whatever they wanted.

Probably bandits, he thought to himself and continued eating. He wasn't interested in getting involved in this mess as long as it didn't concern him.

The three dogs found themselves an empty table and sat down. The leader tipped his hat at Gagne whose smile had finally vanished from his face.

"Amélie, darling, get over here!" the leading dog called out.

The woman didn't waste one second. "What I can get you, monsieur Diarra?" she asked.

"How many times have I told you that you can call me Marcel?" the man said, wrapping his arm around her waist and pulling her closer.

"You know I don't get personal with customers, monsieur Diarra," Amélie said, squirming a little but not pulling away from Marcel.

"Daddy doesn't like it, huh?" the black dog said with a chuckle, earning a glare from Marcel.

"Shut up, Laurent," he snapped. "Nobody asked you."

He gave Amélie a little slap and pushed her away. "One day you'll call me whatever I tell you, but tonight I'll be happy if you get us something to drink. We've been working all day," he said.

Rochefort glanced at Gagne, wondering if he was going to say anything about someone touching his daughter like that, but it seemed like the man was rooted to his place. Nobody else in the inn had made a move or said anything either.

No common bandits, then, he decided and took another gulp of the wine. It was then that he noticed the three dogs staring at him.

Marcel waved Gagne over and finally got some reaction out of the man. "Who's that?" he asked loudly enough for Rochefort to hear and nodded at the Count's direction. Rochefort pretended that he hadn't noticed.

"Just a traveller on his way to Spain. He won't cause any trouble to Governor Enguerrand. Don't worry," Gagne explained quickly.

"Hmm. You sure somebody didn't ask him to come here and report to Paris?" Marcel asked, and Gagne grew a grey shade of pale.

"Of course! He's no trouble at all, I swear!" he said.

Marcel laughed a little, and Laurent joined in. The third member of their group didn't seem to find anything funny about the situation. He only rolled his eyes and shook his head.

"Don't worry, old man! I know you people are too stupid to do anything like that!" Marcel said cheerfully. Next he turned to his companions and said, "Stay here. I'll go and talk to the stranger."

"I think he looks suspicious," the third man in their group muttered.

"Everything looks suspicious to you! Don't worry so much, Piers," Marcel said, giving his friend a slap to the shoulder. Piers only snorted at that.

Rochefort didn't lift his eyes from his food when Marcel arrived, not even when the man sat down in front of him. Marcel didn't speak to him either, and they sat in complete silence until Rochefort was done eating. The other customers in the inn were looking at the two of them all the while trying to look like they were busy talking to each other.

"I take it you wish to speak to me," Rochefort finally said, putting down his empty mug.

"What's your business here, stranger?" Marcel asked. He was leaning back in his chair and resting his hand on the hilt of his sword, appearing very relaxed and at ease. Rochefort didn't let the act fool him, though. He had seen men like Marcel numerous times before, and he knew that if needed, the tall dog could leap into action and draw his sword in a blink.

It was a pity he didn't have his own sword anymore. He would have very much liked to see how good Marcel really was.

"I think the innkeeper already informed you of that. I'm on my way to Spain," Rochefort replied coldly.

"I hope you're speaking the truth. Me and my friends, we don't like people who stick their nose into matters that aren't their business," Marcel said. As he did this, he took a long glance behind his shoulder and everyone he looked at quickly turned away.

"Done showing off?" Rochefort asked. It was obvious to him that Marcel didn't consider him a real threat but simply wanted to remind these peasants of his might. Pathetic, but it was to be expected from simple-minded fools.

"I'd watch my words if I were you," Marcel said as he stood up. "This isn't a safe area for those who make enemies with me. Especially if they're travelling alone." With that, he returned to his companions, just in time to receive the drinks Amélie was bringing them.

Rochefort was ready to get up and go to bed, but it looked like Amélie would be busy until Marcel and his friends left, so he would have to wait until she had the time to tell which room was his. He kept an eye on the group of three and this time he didn't even try to hide his piercing stare from them. They soon realised that he was watching, but the only one bothered by it seemed to be the smallest one, Piers.

It was a good thing he was leaving the next morning, he mused. There was obviously something going on in the town, otherwise three men would never have been able to act like that and get such a reaction out of everyone. He was mildly curious, but not enough to get involved and be delayed even further. Not that he his journey had a specific goal in the first place, but principles were principles.

As the night grew later, the other customers started leaving in small groups. Marcel and his gang followed the example after a few more drinks, none of which they paid for. At the door Marcel turned back once more and blew a kiss at Amélie, making the young woman shift uncomfortably.

"Haha! I told you she doesn't like you!" from Laurent was the last thing Rochefort could hear from them before they closed the door.

He stood up and picked up his hat. "I'd like to get into my room now," he said.

"Right, I'm sorry. I already prepared it earlier. Here's the key," Amélie said and handed him a key. She seemed a little shaken and didn't even properly look at Rochefort as she spoke. She quickly turned her attention to the mugs Marcel and his group had left behind and busied herself with taking them away.

Rochefort turned away to leave, but Gagne's hand on his shoulder stopped him.

"Yes?" the Count asked.

Gagne took a quick glance around, and once he was sure that all remaining customers were friends, he leant closer. "I wouldn't try my luck with Diarra and his gang. They have powerful friends in this area," he whispered.

"I know how to take care of myself," Rochefort pointed out.

"I don't think you quite understand. They work for the local Governor and they can get away with anything. They terrorize the townspeople and --" the innkeeper continued, but Rochefort had no patience for such stories.

"And why should that be any concern of mine?" he demanded in irritation.

Fortunately, Gagne seemed to get the hint. "Very well," he agreed with a nod. "Goodnight, monsieur Fort."

Rochefort thought he could finally be alone and rid of these peasants, but as he reached the second floor, he found himself face to face with a young pup. She was maybe thirteen years old and her fur was a light shade of caramel, but despite this she was obviously related to Gagne and Amélie. The girl was leaning against the wall and didn't seem at all startled when Rochefort arrived.

He tried to walk past her without getting into a conversation, but she looked up to him in curiosity and said, "I heard you talking to Marcel."

"You shouldn't listen to other people's conversations, young lady," Rochefort said. He didn't stop walking, so the girl had to follow him in order to keep talking.

"You were really rude to him. He's not going to like that," the girl said. As an afterthought she added, "But I do. It's about time someone does something about him."

"I'm not going to do anything about him. Do you parents know you're standing up here, listening to what goes on downstairs?" Rochefort asked. He had found the door to his room, but he wasn't going to open it until he had got rid of the brat.

The girl shrugged like it was no problem. "Papa doesn't like me downstairs this late. He thinks he needs to protect me, or something. But he doesn't know that I eavesdrop on them every night," she said with a mischievous smirk.

"Maybe I'll tell him, then," Rochefort said.

"Nah, you wouldn't. You aren't like these boring country people. You're mysterious," the girl said.

"I think you have too much imagination for your own good. Now leave me, I have no time to stand in corridors, speaking to foolish girls," Rochefort said.

"Just call me Ninette. It's shorter," the girl laughed and took a few skips away. When she was about to disappear through a small side door, she turned back to take one last look at Rochefort, but the Count paid her no more attention.

I wouldn't want to be monsieur Gagne when that girl gets a little older, he mused as he stepped into his room.

The room wasn't anything spectacular. There was a bed, a small table and a chair, and all of them were simple and even ugly. On the other hand, everything was clean and at least the room didn't smell bad, unlike in the previous town where he had almost decided to join his horse in the stables.

In fact, the room reminded him very much of the one in that inn where he had first duelled with Dogtanian. It seemed like it was ages since that night, and he felt tired just thinking about it. He sometimes found himself wondering what would have happened if he hadn't met Dogtanian that day on the road. They would have probably still fought later in Paris, but there wouldn't have been any special rivalry between them.

Then again, it probably didn't matter in the long run. The result of that final duel between them would have been the same whether they were rivals or not. The only difference was that maybe the blow to his honour would have stung a little less if it had happened in front of someone else. Whether he liked it or not, Rochefort had to respect the Cadet – no, he was a Musketeer now – and Dogtanian's opinion wasn't completely meaningless to him.

The young cavalier had shown him what being honourable was really like, but instead of making him see the light, this had only managed to confuse the Count. The only thing he knew for certain was that Milady's actions in the duel had shamed him, but he wasn't sure whether that was in any way worse than what he had done himself. After all, he had accepted Widimer destroying the bridge when the Musketeers had been on their way to Spain. Wasn't that just as bad as shooting someone in a duel or attempting to poison them?

He didn't know what to think of himself, and that was the reason to his continuing bad spirits. He wasn't certain if it had been Milady who had destroyed his honour or whether he had been doing a good job at it himself for years.

Thinking about Paris and his actions in Richelieu's service made him feel weary, so he decided to go to bed and forget all about Dogtanian and his own former allies, at least for the night.

**To be continued... **


	2. Chapter 2

Dogtanian and the Three Muskehounds is copyrighted to BRB Internacional.

**THE LOST PATH**

**Chapter 2**

Rochefort had always been good at getting up early, so even the wine he had drunk the previous night didn't cause him any trouble the next morning.

He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and took a quick peek outside through the curtains. It was early; the day hadn't dawned yet and the front yard was covered in mist and the few lingering shadows of the night. There was nobody outside, and he suspected that even the horses weren't up yet. It suited him well as he wanted to continue his journey and leave the town as soon as possible.

He got dressed, gathered the few belongings he had brought along, and stepped outside to the corridor. He tried to make as little noise as possible, but only because he wanted to leave without meeting too many people.

Amélie was already downstairs sweeping the floor when he arrived, but he only tipped his hat at her. She stopped her work to look at him curiously.

"Leaving already? I haven't even started making breakfast yet," she said.

"That's not necessary. If possible, I'd like to buy some bread for my journey. That's all I need," Rochefort said.

"Right," Amélie said and hurried to the kitchen. She soon came back with a small package of food and handed it to the Count.

"I trust my horse has been taken good care of?" Rochefort asked.

"Paul is very good with animals," Amélie replied. She offered to come and help Rochefort prepare his horse, but he declined, saying that he could handle it himself. She nodded in agreement and picked up her broom again. Rochefort wondered briefly how much sleep she had got and why her father and sister weren't helping her, but the thought was out of his head as soon as he stepped into the crisp morning.

It was still cold from the night and the air was moist. Everything had the kind of refreshing smell to it that it felt like you had just bitten into a sour apple, and Rochefort had to rub his hands together to keep them warm. Waiting for a few hours would have made the beginning of the day's journey easier on him, but he was determined to get out of the town as soon as possible.

His horse was already awake when he entered the stables, and he guessed the animal had got used to his daily routine. It took him some fifteen minutes to get his companion ready for the road, and he felt a sense of relief when he was finally riding through the streets of the small town.

He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but he didn't like towns like this. It wasn't merely because he was used to Paris and everything being bigger and more glorious, but something about the quiet life itself made him nervous. He couldn't imagine himself settling down in a place where nothing new ever happened, so he was happy every time he could leave such a setting, even if it meant that he would eventually arrive in an identical little town.

Maybe I really should go to Spain, he mused. He had some distant relatives in Madrid and he was certain that they'd be happy to hear about the Rocheforts. Whether _he_ would be happy to meet _them_ was a different matter, especially if they were anything like his older sister. Being head-strong and stubborn seemed to run in the family, so maybe Spain wasn't the best destination after all.

The landscape that greeted him once he got out of the town was almost nothing but fields as far as the eye could reach. There were a few lone trees standing among the crops every here and there, but they could be counted with the fingers of one hand.

Rochefort found himself pondering how to ambush someone if they were riding on this particular road. He imagined himself giving orders to his men and making them hide among the crops, ready to leap out and attack whoever was travelling past them. However, as soon as his thoughts reached this point, he realised that his targets would probably have been Dogtanian and his friends and that there was only one possible result to the battle that would follow.

"I have to stop thinking about them," he muttered to himself. He wasn't going to get any kind of peace before he forgot all about the Musketeers.

After travelling for a few hours, he reached the end of the fields and arrived to another forest. This one wasn't as thick and intimidating as the one he had ridden through the previous night, and the road was wider as well. Despite the good amount of light and general air of security, he couldn't help feeling that there was something wrong. He soon found himself stealing wary glances to his sides and listening more carefully to the sounds of the forest.

A bird was singing somewhere in the branches, his horse's hooves clicked steadily against the road, and slight wind was rustling the leaves. He couldn't detect anything suspicious, but he couldn't shake the uneasy feeling off either.

Then he saw it to his left. A twinkle from the sunrays hitting the blade of a weapon caught his eyes for a split second, and before he even knew what he was doing, he had jumped off his horse and rolled to the side. It was just in time, too, because at the same time he could hear the surprised yelp of someone who had tried to jump at him from the branches. Rochefort heard the whine of his horse and a curse from his attacker, but by the time he got himself up his horse had already panicked and ran off.

Swearing this under his breath, he turned his attention to the assailant who was lying on the ground and holding his side, a pained expression spread on his face. He'd had a nasty fall, but Rochefort didn't find it in himself to feel any pity for the man.

He recognised the man as the third dog from Marcel's group, the small one with slightly curly brown fur and floppy ears. As far as he remembered, his name had been Piers, but that wasn't his main concern at the moment. If Piers was here, his friends probably weren't far away and Rochefort doubted they wanted to make friends.

Indeed, he didn't have to wait long until the two other men arrived from behind trees. Both had their swords drawn out and neither stopped to help their friend who was struggling to get up on his feet.

"What do you want?" Rochefort asked.

"We don't need curious outsiders to get involved in our matters," Marcel said.

Rochefort snorted in irritation. "I was well on my way out of here and I wouldn't have thought twice of this place if you hadn't stopped me now. It seems like you've utterly failed at your task," he said.

"I wouldn't be that cocky if I were you," Laurent pointed out with a chuckle. "You don't even carry a sword. Or are you planning to show us that pen is mightier than the sword, accountant?"

"Quit your stupid jokes! We don't have time for them!" Marcel snapped and turned to look at Piers. "Hey, you alright?"

"I think I broke something. You have to handle him without me," Piers said. He was holding his injured side and his breathing came out in sharp pants, but he had managed to drag himself up from the ground.

"My master will get suspicious if my body is found by the road. You wouldn't want to get in trouble with him," Rochefort warned. He wondered if Richelieu would even blink if he turned up dead, but he dismissed the thought quickly. He didn't serve the Cardinal anymore.

"Who says anyone's going to find the body?" Laurent asked.

"Hmm, that sounds sensible," Rochefort admitted. "Of course, you're going to have to kill me first."

"And that's a problem because?" Laurent asked with a smirk. He pointed his sword at Rochefort, but the Count only glanced at it without interest. He did know that he was in trouble facing two armed cavaliers, but he wasn't about to give them half the victory by showing it.

He eyed the pair and came to the conclusion that Laurent was a lot more eager to draw blood but had less talent whereas Marcel preferred to stand back and let others do the dirty work. Something in those dynamics reminded him of Widimer and himself, so he decided that Marcel was the one had to watch out for.

Thinking more about the issue was a luxury he couldn't afford even with his title and money because Laurent took that moment to decide that enough was enough and that it would be better for everyone if they got the small matter of gutting someone out of the way.

Despite that he didn't have anything to block the blow, Rochefort had been in enough duels to know how to get away from the sword's way without a scratch. He leapt back when Laurent tried to advance at him and glanced at his side to find a stick, anything, to help him keep the blade away. He wouldn't be able to keep dodging forever and the knife he had under his clothes was of no use until he got much closer.

"So, you want to make it last longer. Works for me. It's been a while since I had any fun," Laurent taunted. He watched in amusement how Rochefort picked up a fallen branch.

"You're going to defend yourself with that?" the man asked. He attacked again, this time expecting a trick and being more careful.

"I believe it's all I need," Rochefort said and brought his new weapon up to stop the blade inches from his face. The branch wasn't balanced like a real sword and couldn't do any real damage, but it was enough to keep the Laurent's sword from impaling him on the spot.

He didn't get a moment of rest as Laurent kept attacking him. The black dog didn't care where he hit, he just wanted to draw blood and slow Rochefort down as much as possible before going for the kill.

The Count had to roll over to avoid getting a slash to his side and quickly picked himself up again. Laurent was immediately at him, and Rochefort barely had the time to stop the man's sword from penetrating his shoulder – the same one where Milady had shot him and that had just healed well enough for him to use the arm.

In the middle of staying away from Laurent's blade, he barely had the time to steal a glance at Marcel who was watching the one-sided battle with a lifted brow. Rochefort had no delusions about the situation, he knew he was doomed if the other dog decided to join in.

"Hey, you're pretty good," Laurent admitted jokingly. "If you're that good with a stick, I'd like to see how you handle a sword."

Rochefort only growled at that and pushed Laurent's sword away with enough force to make the man wince.

"Did I hit a sore spot?" he asked.

"As much fun as this is, I'd very much appreciate it if you'd just kill him now," Marcel commented from the side.

"Kill-joy," Laurent muttered.

The next few moments would see the resolution of the fight, and Rochefort decided not to waste any more time. When the next stab from Laurent came, he pushed it away like the others. While the other man was still slightly off-balance, Rochefort took a risk and advanced closer, attempting to break his opponent's wrist.

His branch wasn't quite sturdy enough to accomplish that, but he did get a pained yelp from Laurent and the man dropped his sword before he could use Rochefort's defenceless situation to his advantage. He grabbed his wrist with a grimace and stumbled a few steps back.

Rochefort looked at the sword lying at his feet. The temptation to pick it up was eating away his mind, and he knew nobody, not even the Musketeers, would fault him for breaking his vow in such a situation as this. Nobody except himself. Feeling irritated at his own stubbornness, he kicked the sword away to the bushes.

"You must be insane," Marcel pointed out.

"And soon dead!" Laurent added, but Marcel pushed him to the side.

"You had your fun, so stand back. It's my turn," he said.

This fight was going to be a lot more difficult, Rochefort knew, and his branch was already so well-chopped that it wouldn't last similar treatment for long. He would have to find a way to end the battle as soon as possible.

Marcel pointed at the bushes with the tip of his sword. "I'll give you a chance. Go and pick it up," he said.

"I wouldn't honour someone like you with a real duel," Rochefort growled. In his mind, he added that he himself wasn't really worth such a duel either.

"Fine, then," Marcel said with a shrug. "If you wish to die that badly."

And then he was in action. Rochefort was so surprised by the other man's agility that he almost failed to bring up his branch in defence. Despite the last minute save, the angle was bad for him and he twisted his wrist painfully. He had no time to stop to think about it, though, because Marcel was already attempting a stab to his side.

He's really good, Rochefort thought. He felt awfully curious about how he would have faired against the man in a fair duel, and he almost regretted kicking Laurent's sword away. Almost, but not quite. The memory of a duel with another great cavalier was still too fresh in his mind.

Another stab almost found a target in his side, and he had to stop thinking about anything but the present moment. As much as he tried, he couldn't find a single opening in Marcel's defence, and there was no opportunity to hit him like he had done with Laurent. Unlike the black dog, Marcel didn't stop to taunt him and didn't give him a moment to catch his breath. This was exactly the kind of fighting that Rochefort preferred, and he found himself almost enjoying the experience. It was the closest thing to duelling he was ever going to get.

No fun lasted forever, though, so he decided to end it before he was penetrated by Marcel's sword. Every chance he got, he backed away for a step or two and tried to move the fight closer to Piers. Laurent had gone to look for his sword and was on the other side of the road, so he wasn't a problem.

Upon seeing that the fight was getting dangerously close to him, Piers tried to move aside, but Rochefort grabbed his arm and pulled him against his chest, shielding himself from Marcel's attacks. He threw his branch to his feet and snatched the knife he had safely hidden inside his vest. Within a second, it was pointed at Pier's throat and Marcel had to freeze on his heels.

"One step closer and your friend dies," Rochefort threatened.

Pier's breathing was coming out in pained gasps due to the damage in his chest and his uncomfortable position, but Rochefort couldn't have cared less. He kept his eyes locked on Marcel, who seemed undecided for a moment.

"What do you think you're going to accomplish with that?" he asked then.

"I'll have you leave your sword here with me and get away. Your friend can follow once I think it's safe for me," Rochefort said.

Laurent had found his sword in the bushes and pointed it angrily at the Count. "Nonsense!" he snapped. "Why do you think we care about him?"

Rochefort glanced briefly at the man he was holding, but there was no change in his expression. Either this was a trick they were all familiar with, or Piers was used to Laurent's comments by now.

"I'll give you five seconds. If your swords aren't at my feet by that time, you can say goodbye to him," he said and pulled Pier's head back to reveal his throat and press his knife tighter against it.

"Fine," Marcel said grudgingly and threw his sword away. Laurent followed the example after a moment of baffled hesitation, but Rochefort didn't loosen his hold on Piers.

"Now go," Rochefort urged.

"Are we just going to do as he says?" Laurent asked Marcel as the two of them turned around and started walking deeper into the forest.

"Do you want to explain Pier's death to Enguerrand, hm? Thought so," Marcel snapped. He glanced behind his shoulder and shouted at Rochefort, "You had better let him go, understand?"

"I will," Rochefort promised and watched how the two disappeared into the woods.

"You aren't bad for an accountant," Piers pointed out once a few minutes had passed. Rochefort offered no reply apart from a snort, so the man continued, "Any chance of you letting me sit? I might have broken a rib and it's just not fun standing like this."

"Maybe you'll think twice before jumping at unsuspecting travellers again," Rochefort said, but let go of the man. Piers fell to his knees with a thankful sigh and leaned against the closest tree.

"Unsuspecting? Right," he muttered under his breath, but didn't seem truly annoyed. "So, how long until I can go?"

"Be my guest. I don't have time to stand here any longer. My horse took off because of you," Rochefort said. If he had any luck, he would find the animal within hours, but if the day's previous events were any indication, he wasn't going to see a sign of it until midnight.

Piers pointed to the bushes as he slowly picked himself up. "I think it went that way," he said.

Rochefort wondered whether he was supposed to thank a man who had tried to kill him only moments earlier. The thought of whether Dogtanian would have done it also crossed his mind. He decided that it was exactly the kind of thing the young pup would have done, so he didn't say anything to Piers, only turned his back at him and started going after his horse.

He kept his knife ready in case any of the three decided to come back, but he didn't think it was likely. Piers was in no condition to continue the fight and Marcel seemed to have some common sense in him and would keep the over-enthusiastic Laurent in line. If the dynamics around here were anything like in Paris, the trio was on their way to suck up to their employer, this Governor Enguerrand whose name had been mentioned a few times.

The forest was getting thicker the further he wandered, and following the tracks of his horse got easier and easier. There were cut branches and destroyed bushes everywhere, and it didn't take him long before he spotted the black animal.

I thought it would have ran further, he thought to himself, but soon realised why the horse was still there. The bridle had got caught into a tree and the horse was trapped.

"You stupid animal," Rochefort muttered as took the reigns. He tried to pull to make the horse follow, and it was then that he realised the animal was injured and refused to put weight on its left foreleg. The Count bent down on one knee to take a look at the leg. He was no expert in these matters, but he knew he wouldn't be able to ride anywhere now. The horse was also missing a shoe. Since he didn't know how far the next town was, his only option was to walk back to the previous and have someone take a look at his horse.

It was now that he realised the burning ache in his left shoulder. The wound he had received in Paris had healed marvellously because of ointment Dogtanian had given him, but it tended to make itself known whenever he used his arm too much. He would have to take another look at it when he reached the town.

With an annoyed sigh, he pulled harder and forced the limping animal to follow him back to the road.

* * *

Thick, red satin covered every possible spot in the room; the curtains fell down against the windows in heavy folds, the chairs were upholstered with it, and round pillows covered the luxurious sofa. Apart from this crimson sea, the only other colour in the study was dark brown, as all furniture was made of ebony. A thick smell of dust and books that hadn't been opened in years dwelled around the room.

The figure sitting behind the large desk was no less intimidating. He was a large black dog, a head taller than his strongest soldier and with shoulders almost twice as wide, dressed in a fine purple vest and trousers and with several rings in his thick fingers. The expression on his face was peaceful, but anyone who met him would later say that the stare of those piercing eyes had made them feel colder than at a clear midnight in the depths of winter. The most unfortunate ones could also tell about the blind rage that could take over those calm features in an instant.

The three men standing in front of Governor Enguerrand's desk hoped they wouldn't be included in that latter group any time soon. This was the first time they had failed at anything the Governor had told them to do, and none of them was sure what to expect.

"He surprised us," Marcel said.

"He was very talented for an accountant," Piers chimed in. He hadn't had the time to have his injuries looked at, but standing under the Governor's stare gave him strength that no pain could crush.

The Governor was tapping against his desk thoughtfully. "Why did you even attack him? He was going to leave this area, wasn't he?" he asked.

Marcel looked a little taken back and glanced at his companions. When it looked like nobody else would speak, he said, "Well… yes. We thought there was something off about him, so we decided to take care of him, just in case. And we also wanted to teach the townspeople a lesson. If someone turns up dead, they might be more submissive."

"What about him was suspicious?" the Governor asked, ignoring the second excuse. His voice was low, like the rumble of upcoming thunder.

The three men looked at each other. None of them knew how to put it into words, and none had the courage to say that out loud.

"Well?" Enguerrand encouraged.

"He doesn't seem like an accountant to me, sir," Piers said finally. "He defeated us even without a sword."

"He was just lucky!" Laurent snorted.

"He was cunning!" Marcel snapped at his companion.

"So, he took out three of my best men, and if he wasn't suspicious before, now he will be very curious about what is going on around here," Enguerrand muttered. He closed his eyes for a moment and the three men froze, knowing that if there was to be an enraged rant, it would come now.

"If he finds out what we're doing here, we will either persuade him into silence, or make sure he never talks to anyone again. Bring him to me. I will decide which is better in this case," the Governor finally said.

* * *

Piers had known that things would end badly when he had seen the glimmer in Marcel's eyes as Laurent suggested that they should kill the stranger they had seen in the inn. They hadn't had any action in a while and their leader was in a bad mood because the innkeeper's daughter hadn't started showing any signs of liking him, no matter how much he tried to impress her. It was no surprise that Marcel, who usually was more sensible than that, had been tempted by the promise of having some fun and gone along with the plot.

Piers winced as he pressed a hand against his chest. His ribs had taken quite a beating, but he no longer thought anything was broken. It just hurt like hell. It was nothing new to him that he was the one to take the fall – this time literally – when their plans failed.

"Do you think the Governor is going to have the man killed?" he asked Laurent who was lying on his bed with his face hidden under his hat.

"Hmm? I hope not because I want to do it. I can't believe I lost to someone who doesn't even know how to use a sword!" the black dog mumbled under the hat.

Piers had his doubts about that. He had been watching the fight intensely and he hadn't missed the balanced and calculated moves of their opponent. That monsieur Fort is definitely a skilled man who had held a sword before in his life, he thought. Why he wouldn't do that now was a mystery that tickled Piers's curious mind, but he knew better than to try finding it out. He knew from personal experience that most men would rather die than reveal the secrets in their pasts.

"He didn't seem like the kind of man who would want to leap in the peasants' defence. I think he just wanted to get out of here, but now that we brought ourselves into his attention, he's going to be trouble," Piers said.

"I doubt it. He seemed intelligent, so he's going to continue his journey as soon as possible," Marcel said. He was sitting by the window and scribbling something down into a small notebook. Neither Piers nor Laurent had ever been allowed to take a peek at it, and the contents of the book were an ever-lasting subject of debate between them. Laurent was certain it was filled with sappy love poems to Amélie whereas Piers suspected their leader just liked to keep a simple diary and organise his thoughts.

"Funny. I think he looked like the kind of guy who doesn't rest when he gets curious about something," Piers said. He couldn't put his finger on it, but something in Rochefort's eyes had been frighteningly intense and restless.

"He's an accountant! He has to go to his master in Spain. We have nothing to worry about," Marcel said.

"You're probably right," Piers said, only because he didn't feel like arguing at the moment. Just breathing so that it didn't too badly was taking enough effort.

He thought he had been careful when assaulting Rochefort from the trees, but somehow the man had heard him. That further confirmed his suspicions that the man was far from a common accountant, and he was certain that they would run into each other again. It was something he looked forward to, though. Living a life in the Governor's service was boring when they weren't terrorising the peasants, so it would be fun to have a new challenge.

The brown dog glanced at his two companions, knowing that the two of them would try to steal all the fun if the chance presented itself. Piers wasn't certain if he wanted to kill Rochefort. Unlike Laurent, he didn't get any pleasure from killing or even torturing, but he was curious to see just how good Rochefort was and how well he would fair in a duel against him.

If he's as good as the seemed like, I'll let him live, he decided. Everyone deserved a second chance, after all.

**To be continued...**


	3. Chapter 3

Dogtanian and the Three Muskehounds is copyrighted to BRB Internacional.

**THE LOST PATH**

**Chapter 3**

It would have been the understatement of the century to say that Rochefort was exhausted. It had taken him over five hours to walk back to the town, dragging his reluctant horse behind him. The

fight against Marcel and his friends was also weighing on him because he hadn't had an exercise like that in weeks, and he was starting to get a little out of shape. When he finally arrived to the edges of the town, he was ready to fall into bed even though the sun wouldn't be setting for several hours yet.

"Hey, monsieur Fort!"

He stopped at his heels when he heard a familiar voice call out to him and turned to look to his left. There was a small smithy there, and a familiar-looking young man was waving at him. Rochefort recalled the man as Didier, the lad who had led him to the town the previous night.

Now that he had been recognised he couldn't just walk past, so he led his horse to the smithy.

"Amélie told me you had left early. What brings you back?" Didier asked, wiping his dirty hands to his shirt.

"I was attacked on the road," Rochefort said. He knew his tone was tired and irritated, but he guessed nobody would expect him to be on the jolliest of moods in this situation and wouldn't be insulted, not that he cared.

"What? What happened?" Didier exclaimed.

"Three men stopped me and tried to kill me," Rochefort said. "And look at what they did to my horse!"

"It must have been Marcel and his gang," Didier guessed, and his eyed widened when Rochefort nodded. "But how are you still alive?"

Before Rochefort had the chance to speak, another dog appeared from the smithy. The newcomer wasn't very tall, but he was strongly-built and wide enough to be a match for Athos. He had a thick, orange fur that was covered in soot and so messy that Rochefort didn't think he would ever be able to straighten it out. He recalled Didier mentioning someone called Picard the previous night, and he guessed this man was him.

"What's going on?" the dog asked.

"He was attacked my Marcel at the road!" Didier explained, pointing at Rochefort with his hammer.

The blacksmith didn't say anything for a while, only eyed Rochefort from top to bottom. To the Count it felt like he was on trial for something he hadn't done, but he was too tired to attempt looking menacing, so he settled with seeing what the man would think of him.

"What happened to the horse?" the blacksmith asked.

"It was scared off and ran into the forest. I was lucky to find it," Rochefort said, a little taken back by the man's lack of interest in the actual attack.

"Hmm. Let me see." Without waiting for Rochefort's approval, the man knelt by the horse and took the injured leg into his hand, ignoring the pained neigh from the animal and letting Rochefort deal with keeping the struggling patient in line.

"Don't move!" he snapped and pulled at the bridle. "Well? How bad is it?" he asked when the blacksmith got up and brushed sand of his knees.

"It's going to heal on its own, but you have to give it time. Two weeks rest and it'll be fine," the man said.

"Two weeks? I don't have that much time!" Rochefort said.

"Unless you have another horse hidden somewhere, you don't have too many options," the blacksmith said calmly. He gave the horse an encouraging pat to its neck while Rochefort stood there in shock.

There was no way he was going to stay in this lousy little country town for two weeks, waiting for his useless horse to heal, and he wasn't going to just stand and take that kind of attitude from a common blacksmith! He was a nobleman and people were supposed to do as he said and wanted, not treat him like he was one of them!

"Hey, you can't just turn your back on me!" he snapped when the man, seemingly already bored with the scene, was about to return to his smithy.

"I have work to do," was the only reply he got, and he was left fuming outside.

"Who does he think he is?" he asked Didier who had the sense to look a little ashamed. The black-and-white dog scratched the back of his ear and winced.

"Picard is like that sometimes. Don't mind him," he said. "But how did you survive Marcel and his friends? They're brilliant with sword!"

"I've seen better," Rochefort replied. He wasn't in the mood to have a chat with anyone, least of all a simple blacksmith's apprentice, so he told Didier he was going to the inn and would come back to tell the story some other time.

He sighed to himself when he was finally alone again. He had no idea what to do next and he felt too tired to even think about it, so he decided the matter would have to wait until the next morning. Then he'd see if he was going to get a new horse or wait.

Arriving to the inn felt like an enormous weight had been lifted off his shoulders, and he had to wonder how he could have considered the place mediocre the previous night. It looked like a palace now.

He gave his horse to the surprised stable boy and told him to take a look at the leg before going inside. There weren't many customers now because the locals would only arrive to drink once it got dark and they had had the day's work done. Apart from a sleeping man, Amélie was the only one in the main hall.

She was scrubbing tables and lifted her head when she heard someone arrive and she frowned a little when she realised who it was.

"Monsieur Fort, what are you doing here?" she asked.

"I was attacked at the road and my horse was injured, so I had to come back," Rochefort said. He was already growing tired of repeating the same line to everyone, and he knew he would still have to explain his presence at least a few times more.

"Attacked!" Amélie exclaimed. Her surprised expression grew worried in an instant when she thought of something, and she was gnawing on her lip when she asked, "Was it Marcel?"

Rochefort nodded. "You're the second person to ask me that. He must be a celebrity around here," he said.

"He's a real trouble-maker! Everything that is wrong in here is his fault. His, and that terrible Governor's!" Amélie snapped. "Are you hurt?" she added quickly.

"No, I was able to send them off."

Now that he had been dragged into the mess as well, Rochefort couldn't help feeling slightly curious about this Governor Enguerrand and what was going on, but the need to get some rest was stronger than any thirst of knowledge. He asked Amélie if he could have a room again, this time for an indefinite period of time.

"Of course! You can have the same one as last night. You look terribly weary, so you had better take some rest right now. I'll bring you up some soup later," the woman said.

"Thank you," Rochefort said, feeling grateful enough to be polite for a change. He dragged himself up the stairs and to his room, glad that he didn't meet anyone on the way there. He barely found the energy to take off his boots and hat before collapsing on bed. It felt heavenly to just lie down.

Despite how tired he was and how he had decided to rest first and think later, he found that he couldn't just close his eyes. Instead, he kept staring at the ceiling above him as he thought about his situation.

As much as he hated to admit it, Picard had been right. He had only one horse and he wasn't very enthusiastic about the idea of leaving it behind and buying a new one, mainly because he didn't think he could get such a good horse in a pathetic town like this and because he didn't want to spend all the money he had on him. If he wanted more, he would have to send word to his sister and he already knew what she would have to say about that.

If he absolutely had to stay in town, he would have to come up with something to do. His opinion of country bumpkins had never improved from what it had always been, namely that they were all uncivilized idiots and not worth his time. Of course, that attitude had put into motion the events that had made Dogtanian his rival, so he maybe he would have to be more careful with his words this time. Not to mention that Dogtanian had turned out to be one of the finest men in France, despite his common origins.

Maybe he shouldn't be that quick to judge. He himself came from a noble family, and he couldn't name many actions to be proud of in the recent past. Apart from helping Dogtanian, all he had done lately was being Richelieu's lapdog and helping the Cardinal attempt dragging the Queen's reputation through mud. Even helping Dogtanian had been more about honour than morals because he had grudgingly learnt to respect the pup.

"Why do I keep thinking about Paris?" he asked himself. There was nothing to be gained from wallowing in bad memories and things he could and should have done differently. Nothing could be done about the past now.

With this in mind, he finally drifted into deep sleep.

* * *

When Rochefort woke up, he was feeling much better, both in terms of spirit and body. A look out the window told him that it was very early morning, and he realised he must have slept a lot longer than he had originally planned. He doubted anyone else would be up at this hour, so he stayed in bed and tried to come up with a good plan for the next couple of weeks.

He would stay in town, he had decided that now. Since he didn't have a clear destination in mind and nobody would miss him, the only inconvenience to him was having to find something to do. He thought he could maybe take care of his horse and walk it around when the leg got better. It wouldn't be a bad idea to learn something about that, either, because who knew when the animal would twist another leg?

If he had time, maybe he could also learn a little more about what was making the people here hate and fear the Governor so, but that wasn't one of his main interests. He had had enough of politics for a while and didn't want to stick his nose into business that didn't concern him. Keeping an eye on Marcel was the farthest he was ready to go to.

A growl from his stomach reminded him that he hadn't eaten anything in over a day. He doubted anyone was going to serve him at this hour, so he rummaged through his backpack and found the bread and cheese that Amélie had given him the previous day. They didn't taste very good anymore, but he was too hungry to care.

A few hours later he felt that he couldn't sit still in the small room anymore, so he got dressed and went downstairs. He guessed it was maybe around seven in the morning, so someone would have to be up already.

He wasn't disappointed when he entered the main hall. Amélie was sweeping the floor again, but more importantly, her father was sitting at one of the tables and watching her work. He turned around when he heard Rochefort arrive and flashed a charming smile at the Count.

"Why, good morning! Great to see you up and happy. Amélie told me what happened to you yesterday," Gagne said.

Happy wasn't how Rochefort would have described his mood, quite the opposite, but he didn't start to argue with his host.

"How is my horse doing?" he asked.

"Oh, it's fine. Paul took a look at the leg, and it doesn't look too bad," Gagne said.

"Good." Maybe his stay in the town wouldn't become too long after all, and he just might be able to endure most of it without growing severely irritated with the country bumpkins. If it got bad, he could always pretend it was just another hardship to make him stronger.

"Of course, you will have to find someone to give it exercise once it gets a little better. Paul doesn't have the time to do it," Gagne said, a hint of uneasiness in his voice.

"I'll do it myself," Rochefort said.

"Ah, I see." The way Gagne glanced at his daughter told Rochefort that the man didn't think his guest had any extra money to spare. It was fine with him; he didn't want to attract any leeches.

"So, what really happened with Marcel?" Gagne asked, conveniently changing the subject. He looked interested and Amélie stopped her sweeping, too.

"They stopped me at the road and said they didn't want outsiders to get involved in their business. They didn't believe me when I said I wasn't interested in the first place, so they attacked me. Luckily, I was able to pull a knife at one of them and drive them away," Rochefort explained with as few details as he could. He didn't really want to start telling his life story or explain why he was travelling without a sword if he knew how to use one.

Gagne shook his head. "You sure were lucky. Maybe they were just trying to scare you. If they had been serious, you wouldn't be standing here now," he said.

"Maybe." Rochefort didn't start to argue about it, but instead asked, "What's so special about those men and why is everyone afraid of them?"

A shadow fell on Gagne's face and he coughed. "They work for Governor Enguerrand, and --" However, that was as far as he got because he was interrupted by a knock at the door.

"Who could it be this early?" he wondered. "Amélie, open the door."

"Yes, papa," she said and hurried to let the guest inside.

The man who entered the inn was completely unfamiliar to Rochefort, but Gagne and Amélie seemed to recognise him. Judging by their surprised and stern expressions, the man wasn't a welcome guest.

"What is it?" Gagne asked.

"I have a message for monsieur Fort," the stranger said. He was dressed in similar attire to that of Richelieu's men, which immediately made Rochefort question his skills. That bunch in Paris had been nothing but pathetic, and their Captain twice so. He couldn't help wrinkling his nose a little at the thought of Widimer.

"That's me," he said.

"Ah, good. Governor Enguerrand sent me to say that he wants to meet you at his mansion today," the man said.

"Is that all?" Rochefort asked.

"Yes. Be there at noon. The Governor doesn't like waiting," the man said. He turned to tip his hat at Gagne and then stomped out as quickly as he had entered.

"Where is the Governor's mansion?" Rochefort asked after a moment of silence.

"You can't go there after his men tried to kill you! It could be a trap," Amélie protested.

"Nonsense. If the Governor really wanted him dead, he wouldn't have to use tricks like that," Gagne pointed out with a lazy wave of his hand.

"But papa…" his daughter tried to reason, but the man was like a mountain in his stubbornness; nothing could change his opinion once he had got one.

"I can take care of myself," Rochefort said.

"That's the spirit! If you survived them once, you can survive them again!" Gagne said, earning a glare from both Rochefort and Amélie. The woman snorted and went back to sweeping the floor, the movements of the broom sharper and quicker this time.

"I'll check up on my horse," Rochefort said. He walked past the two and stepped outside, feeling like he needed a breath of fresh air. Gagne's attitude was starting to get on his nerves, especially because he knew the man wasn't trying to insult him; he was just too thick-headed and good-hearted to understand what he was saying.

It was dim in the stables, but he had no trouble finding his black horse among the other ones. He patted the animal's side absent-mindedly as he leaned forward to take a peek at the injured leg. The stable boy had wrapped it into some kind of bandage, but Rochefort had no idea if it was doing any good.

Well, at least the horse seemed to be feeling well. A simple twisted leg wasn't going to bring it down after it had survived being poisoned by The Blue Falcon – another misadventure that Rochefort didn't want to recall. The master thief could claim to be one of the few people who had ever tricked Count Rochefort, and as if that wasn't enough, hunting the man down in the Mediterranean had been nothing but a massive fiasco in every way.

For anyone but Dogtanian and his friends, of course. Rochefort sometimes found himself wondering whether the young pup was just extremely lucky or very talented to pull off all those impossible stunts.

Thinking about Dogtanian and the hunt for The Blue Falcon only succeeded in making his mood even viler because it reminded him of Widimer's plan which he had accepted without a second thought. Had there been any point in clinging onto his honour and warning Dogtanian about the poison when he had been perfectly willing to use an equally shameful plot himself?

He frowned. Staying in one place with nothing to do was not good for him. It gave him time to think, and he didn't particularly like the conclusions he was slowly coming to.

* * *

A few hours later, the sun hadn't quite risen above the horizon, but it was still unbearably hot, especially for one who was travelling on foot on the dusty countryside roads. Gagne had offered to loan him one of his horses, but Rochefort had declined after taking one look at the animals. Walking would leave him with more dignity than riding any of those so called horses.

Or so he had thought when he had left. Now that he had been walking for a good hour, he was starting to realise that his stupid pride had presented him with yet another problem. He would be sweaty and tired from the trip once he arrived to the mansion, and that wasn't presentable and would only make him snappier and more impatient than usual.

Thankfully, luck was on his side, maybe to pay back what had happened to him on the previous day. His mental cursing at himself was interrupted when he heard the click of nearing hooves behind him, and he turned around to see a wagon approaching him on the road. As it got closer, he recognised Picard and Didier.

"Hi, monsieur Fort! Where are you going?" Didier asked when Picard stopped the horse by Rochefort's side.

"Governor Enguerrand wanted to see me," Rochefort said, and the cheerful smile on the young man's face vanished.

"Oh," Didier said. "It's probably because his men failed to kill you, right?"

"Probably," Rochefort admitted. He wasn't really worried that his life would be at risk. If he had learnt anything from Richelieu, it was that men like him didn't invite their victims over to have them killed, unless there was a strong personal vendetta involved. They wanted things done in the shadows, preferably so that it would look like an accident or could be blamed on their other enemies.

"He's not going there to be killed," Picard commented from his seat, and Rochefort glanced at the blacksmith in surprise. He hadn't expected anyone in the town to see things the way he did.

"I know. He wants to see if I'm going to be any trouble," he said, getting an approving nod from the older dog.

Didier's frown told the Count that the man wasn't happy with their thoughts but had the common sense to keep his mouth shut when he had no idea what they were talking about. The apprentice obviously knew not to question his master, though he seemed to have lots of opinions of his own.

"So, where are you heading?" Rochefort asked. He took a look at the barrels the two men had on their wagon. They were all filled with swords.

"To the Governor's mansion. To sell weapons," Picard said.

"Hop in so that you don't have to walk," Didier suggested, and Rochefort accepted the offer gladly.

For a moment, they travelled in complete silence. Rochefort's eyes drifted to the swords and he found himself wondering if they were any good in combat and what kind of men would be carrying them soon. He had always got his swords from the best blacksmith in Paris, and he was very picky when it came to them; no second-class junk was good enough for him. Of course, he wouldn't be carrying even the worst of the worst ever again in his life, so it was useless to even think about it. Still, swords were always pretty to look at.

Didier noticed him staring at them, and asked curiously, "Do you know how to use a sword, monsieur Fort?"

Rochefort was silent for a while. "No, I've never handled one in my life," he said.

"For someone as inexperienced as you, you certainly handled yourself well with Marcel and his men," Picard commented from his seat.

"I guess I was just lucky," Rochefort said sternly. Picard was keeping his eyes on the road, and the Count didn't like talking to the man's back.

"Hmm," was all he got as a response.

"Is it common for the Governor's men to attack travellers like that?" Rochefort asked Didier who was a much better person to talk to. The young apprentice was one of the few people in the town who treated him with some amount of respect, and that was one of the things Rochefort had missed during his travel.

"We don't get many travellers in the first place, so I don't know. I think they usually scare whoever they think is a risk to their plans," Didier said.

"Their plans of what?" Rochefort asked. From the way people kept talking about the Governor and his men it sounded like there was something big going on, but nobody had yet seen it worthwhile to fill him in. Of course, he hadn't shown much interest and had been even rude about it, but in his opinion, that was no excuse.

"Their plans of outrageous theft," Picard said, but neither of the other two men paid him any attention.

"So, you don't even know and they still attacked you?" Didier asked with a lifted brow. When Rochefort only nodded, he continued, "The Governor hasn't been in power for more than about a year yet. Before that, his older brother ruled this area until he was called to join the King's court in Paris. He was always a fair ruler and he even listened to us sometimes, which is pretty unheard of. His brother, however --"

"Is the greediest and vilest mutt in all of France!" snapped Picard.

Didier glanced at his master before continuing, "Governor Enguerrand is more interested in personal gain than our well-being. He's planning to build a new trade route across these lands, and our town is right in the way. He's trying to scare us into moving elsewhere."

"And that's where Marcel and his men come into the picture," Rochefort guessed.

"Also doubled taxes!" Picard snapped, and Rochefort hoped he really could have glared daggers at the man. He was really starting to grow tired of him.

"Wouldn't the trade route bring more wealth to the area? Why don't you just move?" he asked. As far as he was concerned, these lands were in the middle of nowhere and anything that brought along more people was an improvement.

"Yes, but the new land the Governor has offered us is worthless. It's a real swamp, and we can't live or grow our crops there. He can't just force us to move because his brother would hear about that, so he's slowly putting more and more pressure on us to make it look like we went freely," Didier explained.

"Hmm," Rochefort muttered. "And you're still going to do business with someone you hate so much?" He pointed at the swords and Didier's face reddened with anger.

"It's not like we have a choice," he said.

"The Governor has ordered these swords, and if we didn't make them, he'd get them from somewhere else. It's not helping anyone if we lose our business," Picard said, but even his voice was thick with contempt.

Rochefort wondered briefly what it would feel like to hate someone that much and be unable to do anything about it. The Governor could get away with almost anything he wanted, and the common people would just have to grind their teeth and endure it. Having been born into aristocracy, he had never had to worry about anything resembling that, and his sympathies had never been with peasants. If he hadn't been attacked by the Governor's men, he would have probably considered himself Enguerrand's ally.

The Governor's mansion was now looming in the horizon, growing bigger as they neared it. As they were let inside the gates by two soldiers, Rochefort thoughts went back to a similar experience. When he had last time visited a governor, he had ended up chained and almost dragged to Paris as a criminal. Hopefully he'd have better luck this time.

"Our business won't take long, but we'll wait for you here," Picard promised as Rochefort jumped down from the wagon.

"Very well," the Count said. He took a look around at the small courtyard. The mansion was large, for a governor of such a distant area, that is. To the side, there was another house, probably meant for the soldiers, whose numbers couldn't be very big, and barrels, boxes, and a few servants were loitering around. It didn't look like the front yard was meant to impress anyone and Rochefort suspected that there was a garden of some sort on the other side.

He spotted Laurent leaning against the wall in shade near the mansion's double doors and he started heading towards the man.

"So, you came," Laurent remarked, straightening his form.

"And why wouldn't I have?" Rochefort asked.

The black dog offered him an uninterested shrug. "I figured you would have had the sense to skip town while you still have your head intact," he said.

"Maybe you should head over that way and see the blacksmith. You may want to buy yourself a new sword to replace the one I took from you," Rochefort stated and Laurent's smirk faded away.

"Hmph! Let's see if you're that cocky once the Governor is through with you," Laurent said. Without another word, he opened the door and led Rochefort inside.

The interior of the mansion was much more glorious than the Count had been expecting. Red seemed to be the Governor's favourite colour as it was everywhere he laid he eyes upon; the carpets, curtains, tapestries, and even furniture. Almost everything was a dark shade of brown, and the combined darkness of the colours was a little overwhelming. It reminded him somewhat of Cardinal Richelieu.

"This way," Laurent said, and Rochefort followed the man, keeping a wary eye on his surroundings. They climbed to the second floor and the black dog showed him the door to the Governor's study, then walked away and left Rochefort alone.

The Count decided to knock. It wouldn't do him any good to come off as too arrogant when he didn't even know what Enguerrand wanted from him. He didn't get a response, but since the Governor was waiting for him, he wasted no more time on hesitating at the door. He opened it and stepped into the study.

The earthy smell of old books, dust, and expensive ink assaulted him, and for a moment he could very well imagine he had come to meet Richelieu after a failed plan, or to come up with a new one. He took off his hat almost automatically, but quickly banished all thoughts of the Cardinal and instead concentrated on the man sitting behind a massive wooden desk.

He had been expecting to find a pathetic fat idiot, like the stupid Governor who had had him imprisoned, but he could see the flash of cold intelligence in the black dog's eyes. His form was massive and his dark fur made him almost disappear in the shadowy room – Rochefort had to wonder how the man got any writing or reading done – and the luxurious purple clothes fell around his form in lazy folds.

"You wanted to see me," Rochefort said to banish the silence and his own surprise.

"Yes, come closer, so that I don't have to shout," Enguerrand grumbled.

Rochefort obeyed, though he crossed his arms on his chest and put a disapproving frown on his face to show that he didn't like being ordered around. He could already tell that Enguerrand was a man he didn't want to make angry, but he wasn't about to be a lapdog to someone who was below him.

"What do you want?" he asked.

"My men told me about the meeting you had yesterday. I was merely curious to see what kind of man would attack them," Enguerrand said.

"I can guarantee that your men were doing all the attacking, but I think you know that already," Rochefort stated. He watched how the Governor's eyes slit just a little, but other than that, the man didn't let any emotion show on his face.

"Are you accusing me of sending them after you? Why would I do such a thing?" Enguerrand asked.

"How should I know? They work for you," Rochefort said. He didn't think it wise to tell the Governor that he knew of what was going on in the area. The last thing he wanted was to be mistaken for having sympathy for the peasants as it would do nothing but make his stay in the town more difficult.

"Yes, and they have done so loyally for years. Why should I believe you instead of them?" Enguerrand asked.

"I don't even carry a sword. It would be insane of me to attack three cavaliers like that," Rochefort said. Calling the three men cavaliers was a stretch, but he didn't think Enguerrand would have taken the word bandits that well.

"It's strange to see a man travel alone without a sword. Where are you going?" Enguerrand asked, avoiding the difficult subject.

"Spain. I'm an accountant and my master needs my services there," Rochefort replied.

Enguerrand nodded at that, and Rochefort guessed his men had filled him in on who he was claiming to be and where he was going. As the conversation wasn't leading anywhere, he was starting to think that the Governor had just been curious to see him and wanted nothing more.

"Ah, I see. In that case you're leaving soon, then," Enguerrand said. A hint of relief had crept into his voice and Rochefort realised that the man was more than happy to see a potentially troublesome traveller disappear to a foreign country.

"Actually, my horse was injured after your men scared it off. I have to remain here for a while until I can ride it again," Rochefort said.

"Won't your master be upset if you arrive late? I can give you another horse if you leave the injured one here," Enguerrand offered.

That's it, Rochefort thought. He really doesn't want any outsiders here.

"The horse belongs to my master. I can't part with it," he said, enjoying the frown that appeared on Enguerrand's face.

"You'll be staying in town, then?" the man asked.

"Yes, but once my horse is healed, I will leave and not come back. I have a new life ahead of me in Spain, so I'm not in any way interested in what happens here," Rochefort said. He hoped the Governor would realise that he didn't want to get involved in their local matters and that there was no need to keep an eye on him or order his men to try another attack. All he wanted was to be left in peace.

Governor Enguerrand smiled a little at that. "I take it there are things you want to leave behind in France?" he asked.

"I believe that is my personal business, Governor," Rochefort said. In his mind, he couldn't deny the man's words, though. If he only could have forgotten that last duel with Dogtanian, his life would have been easier in every way. Again, he thought about his relatives in Spain and whether he should pay them a brief visit once all of this was over.

"Of course, of course," Enguerrand agreed, making a peaceful gesture with his hands. "I offer my condolences for what happened to your horse. I'm sure it was all an accident."

"Naturally," Rochefort said. "I take it I can be excused?"

"By all means. I think we can agree on that there is no bad blood between us. If there is anything I can do for you during your stay, don't hesitate to send me a word," the Governor said.

"All I need is that you keep your men away from me. I wouldn't want to see anyone get hurt," Rochefort said, turning around and walking to the door.

"Always wise to be careful, especially when one is not a swordsman," Enguerrand agreed.

"I wasn't talking about them," Rochefort pointed out as he put his hat back on his head and closed the door after him.

Once outside of the study, he stopped for a moment to gather his thoughts. Enguerrand hadn't done anything to raise his suspicions and the man didn't seem very bloodthirsty, but it was exactly the lack of those qualities that told him that he didn't want to have anything more to do with the man. Enguerrand was intelligent and clever enough to keep his true intentions hidden from a random traveller, but Rochefort was certain that if he presented himself a problem, the Governor would do everything to remove him from the area, probably not alive.

The situation reminded him a little of what had been going on in Paris, but he had more respect for Richelieu than Enguerrand. Though the Cardinal was working with his own best interests in mind and didn't particularly care for the common people, he didn't exploit them mercilessly. Richelieu had higher goals in mind, goals that Rochefort could still agree with, even if he no longer wanted to work for the man.

How come all governors I come across are corrupt, he wondered as he walked downstairs and stepped outside.

Picard's wagon was already turned around, empty of swords and ready to go. The man and his apprentice were sitting on it, keeping their distance from the few soldiers who were trying out their new swords in combat.

"I see you were able to sell all your swords," Rochefort said, pointing at the empty barrels as he climbed on the wagon.

"And made barely enough money to cover the materials," Picard grunted.

"The Governor doesn't pay well, which is just another trick he uses to get rid of us," Didier explained.

"How did it go?" Didier asked.

"I didn't like him," Rochefort said. Picard put the wagon on the move and they were soon back on the road, safely outside the walls of the Governor's mansion.

"What a surprise," Picard muttered.

"But what did he want?" Didier asked in curiosity.

"Nothing. He seems happy as long as I leave as soon as possible and don't ask any questions," Rochefort replied. "Which is exactly what I'm intending to do."

"Good for you, saving your own hide," Picard commented.

Rochefort shot a dark glare at the blacksmith's back. "None of what goes on here concerns me in any way. Why should I get involved?" he asked.

"He's right, Picard. It's not like he could do anything," Didier chimed in.

Rochefort said nothing. He knew that it would have been the simplest thing in the world to send word to Paris and inform Enguerrand's brother of what was happening in his lands, but he couldn't bring himself to be interested enough to do that. With his position and wealth, he could have done much to help, but why should he? Unlike Dogtanian, he was no hero.

**To be continued...**


	4. Chapter 4

Dogtanian and the Three Muskehounds is copyrighted to BRB Internacional.

**THE LOST PATH**

**Chapter 4**

Amélie sighed in relief when she saw Rochefort return from his visit to the Governor's. She had been afraid that their guest wouldn't be coming back, so she offered him an encouraging smile as he entered, but he barely glanced at her direction. She didn't mind, though. She had quickly realised that Rochefort wasn't a social goofball like her father, and she respected his desire for peace. Sometimes she felt like withdrawing into herself as well, especially on busy nights when the inn was filled with thirsty guests.

Despite this, she couldn't help being a little curious about what had happened. She had been shocked when she had first heard about how Marcel and his men had attacked Rochefort, as she hadn't expected them to want to attract the attention of outsiders. Once she had realised this, she had started worrying about whether the Governor would want to silence the stranger for good, but apparently, things had gone well between them because Rochefort didn't look any sourer than he usually did.

I wonder what kind of things make him smile, she thought to herself as she prepared the day's dish, vegetable soup, in the kitchen. Ninette was sitting on a bench and kicking her legs back and fort, not doing anything useful to help her sister. Amélie had already asked her three times to chop the carrots for her, but it seemed like Ninette was deaf to such talk. Their father certainly was of no help, never demanding anything from his younger daughter.

"Do you think he's handsome?" Ninette asked all of a sudden.

"Hm? Who?" Amélie asked, concentrating on adding the onions into the soup and not even turning to look at her sister.

Ninette sighed. "Monsieur Fort, of course!"

"Don't tell me you have yet another crush. He's too old for you, and he would never be interested in a little girl like you. Someone his age probably has a wife, or is not interested in marrying if they don't," Amélie said.

"You can't know that! Maybe he's still looking for the right one," Ninette snapped. "And I'm pretty."

"You're a thirteen-year-old country girl and you're going to marry someone from our town. Don't even think about bothering monsieur Fort with your fairytale fantasies," Amélie said sternly, finally turning to face his sister.

Ninette was looking at her with a pout on her sweet face, and yet again Amélie had to wonder why their father spoiled her so much. Ninette always got everything she wanted, so the idea of something being outside her reach was incomprehensible to her. Lately, she had decided that she was too good to marry a farmer or carpenter or some other man from their town and that she was destined to meet a nobleman who would carry her in his arms to Paris and shower her with gifts and flowers.

As far as Amélie was concerned, that kind of things only happened in stories and dreams. Noblemen weren't interested in common girls like them, apart from using them for a night or two and then dumping them. She had long since realised that you could live a lot happier life if you didn't expect too much and were always prepared for the worst.

Besides, she reminded herself, she already had her eyes set on someone. She didn't need mysterious cavaliers to feel happy.

"You can't tell me what to do," Ninette pointed out. "Only papa can."

If Ninette had been her daughter, Amélie would have wiped that self-satisfied smirk from her face with a marathon of chores, but since their father never listened to her, she merely shrugged and returned to her work. She had tried her best; it wasn't her fault if Ninette was growing into a spoiled little princess.

"That must be monsieur Fort!" Ninette said excitedly when they heard a set of steps coming downstairs. The young dog jumped down from her bench and peered into the main hall in interest.

"Don't even think about it! You're staying right here," Amélie said, grabbing her sister's ear and trying to pull her back.

"Let go or I'll tell papa!" Ninette complained and wrenched herself free, already half-way through the door. Amélie decided to follow to make sure her sister didn't do anything stupid in her excitement.

"Hello, monsieur Fort," Ninette said with a smile and jumped to sit on a table, resuming the kicking of her legs.

"It's you again. What do you want?" the man asked. He had been on his way out, and he had now had to stop mid-way to talk to the girl.

"Have you ever been to Paris?" Ninette asked. When Rochefort didn't answer right away, she continued, "I think Paris is the best city in France. It's so big and beautiful and romantic… I want to go there some day."

Amélie noticed the unhappy frown that had appeared on Rochefort's face at the mention of the city, and she guessed that he had been there and that it hadn't been pleasant. She decided to drag her sister away before she angered the guest.

"Ninette, come and help me with the food right now!" she said sternly.

"Not now. I'm talking to monsieur Fort," Ninette said, flashing a sweet smile at the Count.

If she thinks she's going to charm some nobleman with that act, she's very wrong, Amélie thought to herself.

"That's it, young lady! You're coming after me to the kitchen!" she snapped and grabbed Ninette's wrist.

"Young girls should do as they're told," Rochefort pointed out when Ninette tried to put up a fight, and his words immediately made the girl stop. She looked undecided between doing as her new idol wanted and following her own will. After a few seconds of inner struggle, she snatched her wrist from Amélie's and walked into the kitchen, her nose help up high.

"Alright, but only because monsieur Fort asked," she muttered.

Amélie sighed and shook her head. "I'm sorry about her. She's spoiled for good," she apologized to Rochefort.

"She's a pup. You can still do something about it," Rochefort pointed out as he stepped out the door and left Amélie alone in the hall.

"Yeah, if papa only saw it like that," the woman muttered before following Ninette to the kitchen. She was going to make her sister do some work this time, even if it was the last thing she did.

* * *

As pathetic as it was starting to sound, his horse was the best company he had at the moment. It was probably because the animal didn't ask stupid questions, but Rochefort was still somewhat annoyed at himself when he realised this. He should have been able to have more patience with the townspeople, especially since they seemed immune to his reserved attitude and weren't insulted, no matter what he said.

He shouldn't be so angry at them all the time. He had never been very polite to people he considered below him, but something was making him even ruder than usual these days. He couldn't quite put his finger on what it was, but he knew for a fact that it was nothing the townspeople here had done. Most likely he should have been directing his fury at himself.

His horse gave a neigh of protest when he grabbed the injured leg and took a look at it. If just touching it hurt so much, he probably shouldn't be taking the animal out on a walk yet. That meant he had absolutely nothing to do for the rest of the day, and that only made his frown deeper.

The slam of a door and an alarmed shout made him turn around and rush outside. A man was standing at the door of the inn and explaining something to Gagne between his pants.

"There was an accident… your brother…" the man tried to say, but he was too exhausted to form full sentences.

"Jean? What about him?" Gagne asked in worry. Amélie and Ninette were standing behind him, both too curious to have stayed in the kitchen.

"He's trapped. You have to come with me, we need all the help we can get," the man said after he had managed to catch his breath a little.

"Of course. Show me the way." Next, Gagne turned to his daughters and said, "Stay here until I come back."

"I want to come too and help Uncle Jean," Ninette objected, but for once his father could say no to her.

"You're staying here where it's safe," Gagne said, and his tone made it clear that he didn't want to be challenged about this. For a second, Ninette look appalled at that something had been denied of her, but she quickly covered it up with an angry pout.

Gagne was already on his way when he noticed Rochefort standing outside the stables. The innkeeper seemed almost sheepish when he stopped and asked if he could come too, even though he was a guest and didn't have anything to do with the accident. Rochefort agreed, mostly because he was bored, but also because refusing to help when it seemed like the situation was serious would have been a very low thing to do. Just because his honour had been stained, it didn't mean that he could or even wanted to act like a rotten crook.

They raced through the town to the road that led out to the fields. Thankfully, the accident hadn't taken place too far away from the outskirts of the town, so they didn't have to waste too much time reaching the scene.

A wagon full of firewood had fallen over, and one man was trapped under all of it. His head and upper torso were visible and he was conscious, though he was covered in scratches and, judging by his expression, he was in terrible pain. Rochefort guessed he had to have some broken bones under there.

"Jean! What happened?" Gagne asked as he knelt by his brother's side.

"He was walking beside the wagon when the rope around the wood snapped and everything fell on him," another man replied for the injured.

"Well, why haven't you started digging him out?" Gagne demanded. "He could die!"

"It's not that bad," his brother said with a weak smile.

"We just got here. He was the one driving the wagon, and he alerted us," the previous man said and pointed at the peasant who had come to get Gagne and Rochefort from the inn.

"Stop wasting time! Let's get to work!" Gagne snapped, quickly taking the role of the leader and receiving no objections from anyone. All men present started removing the fallen firewood from on top of poor Jean. Thankfully, the wood was chopped into logs which had caused less damage than whole tree trunks would have.

It took them less than five minutes to clear the wood away, and during that time, more people arrived to the scene. Picard and Didier were included among them, and both offered their help when it came the time to lift the fallen wagon. That task required a lot more power and carefulness since one wrong move could make the vehicle crush Jean's leg, which was jammed under it and probably already broken.

"Now! Lift!" Gagne ordered and they slowly removed the wagon so that the innkeeper could pull his brother away from under it. The man, who had been trying to smile throughout the experience, finally let out a whimper and tried to clutch his injured leg.

Someone had had the sense to arrive by horse and carriage, so the injured man was quickly lifted on it and taken back to the town to be treated. Gagne joined his brother after offering Rochefort a quick apology about leaving him behind, but the Count wasn't offended or interested. He had something much more intriguing in his mind.

With everyone talking about the accident and poor Jean, nobody remembered the wagon and fallen firewood. It took Rochefort a while to find the rope that had been used to hold the load together because they had effectively buried most of it under logs as they had worked, but digging through the wood was worth it.

"Hmm," he muttered as he took a closer look at the rope.

"What are you doing?" a familiar voice asked, and he realised Didier had crept up on him.

"Take a look at this," Rochefort said and pushed the rope into the young man's hands, not remembering to feel annoyed at that he hadn't heard the border collie's arrival.

Didier frowned as he inspected the rope, but his eyed widened quickly as he came to the same conclusion as Rochefort.

"It's been cut with a knife!" he said, pointing at the cut that was too even and clear to be the result of slow fraying.

"Or a sword," Rochefort pointed out. Neither of them had to say anything else for they could guess who had been behind the so called accident. Apparently, the Governor hadn't been patient enough to wait until Rochefort had left before ordering his men to continue making the townspeople's lives difficult.

"Should we tell the others?" Didier asked, eyes gleaming with sudden excitement. Rochefort hoped the young man wasn't starting to consider him an ally in some sort of conspiracy or even worse yet, expect him to do somethin about the matter.

"I think they will find out soon enough on their own," he said. It certainly wouldn't come as a shock to anyone.

"Yeah, I guess you're right," Didier said. "Besides, they're too busy worrying about Jean. I hope he wasn't too badly hurt."

"Broken bones can be tricky. I've seen a man lose his leg after an incident like that," Rochefort said.

"I didn't know accountants led such exciting lives," Picard's voice interrupted their conversation. The blacksmith took one look at the rope in Didier's hands but didn't seem interested in it. Rochefort guessed the man had realised the reason of the accident even before him and Didier.

"I was lucky to be at the right place at the right time," he explained.

"You seem to be in the right place every time something happens," Picard said.

"And what is that supposed to mean?" Rochefort asked, a threatening edge creeping into his voice. The furry blacksmith didn't even flinch, though, only regarded the Count with a steady stare.

"I'm just curious about how a simple accountant like you can get involved with so many things. Being attacked by excellent swordsmen and surviving, being called to meet the Governor, conveniently being here to help after the accident…" he listed.

"If you're accusing me of being the Governor's man, you're wrong. I don't work for men like him," Rochefort snapped.

At least not anymore, he added in his mind.

"Besides, I wouldn't have had the chance to cause this accident. I was with you almost the entire day," he continued.

Picard was silent for a while before he nodded. "Very well, but I will keep an eye on you. Come on, Didier. Let's get back to work."

The younger dog had no option but to follow his master, but as he went, he turned to wave at Rochefort.

"I believe you and so will he, eventually," he said.

Rochefort didn't say anything, but he responded to the wave before he even realised what he was doing. He felt slightly foolish about it, but he realised that it had been ages since anyone had shown any faith in him, unless one counted Richelieu and his confidence in Rochefort managing to kill Dogtanian.

Since there was nothing for him to do at the scene of the accident and he didn't feel like talking to the few people still loitering around, he decided to return to the inn. It would take him a while to walk there, but he could use the time to sort out thoughts that had popped into his mind.

Picard suspecting him of working for the Governor was a surprise to him, but once he thought about it, he had to admit that he had to look like a very suspicious character to someone living in an isolated town like this one. Still, the fact that someone even suspected him of that made him feel uneasy in his gut. He had worked for Richelieu for years and done many dishonourable deeds in the man's service. Had that rubbed off to him somehow, making him seem like a crook to everyone who took a look at him? Maybe he had walked that road for so long that there was no turning back for him.

Then again, had he really even tried to do anything to make up for his past? If he truly wanted to show himself and others that he was a different man, shouldn't he be doing something? Or maybe he wasn't really interested in changing his ways at all; this could all be an act brought on by the last shreds of honour he still had.

He shook his head, and his frown deepened. That wasn't right; he was much more than a former villain on the run from the past. He knew he had acted against the honour code he claimed to follow in Richelieu's service, and he knew that what was going on in this town was far from right. The question was, did he care about either thing at all?

It would be so easy to leave as soon as his horse was healed and never think back to what he had seen. He was a nobleman, not obliged to care about what happened to the common people, and nobody would blame him for anything if they ever found out.

And if he did end up doing something to help, would it matter if he did it because he really wanted to, or simply because he knew it was the right thing to do?

That trail of thought was getting a little too theological for him, so he let it be and instead wondered what he could do if he so wanted. Despite that he was a count and had a position much stronger than Enguerrand, he couldn't just march into the man's mansion and tell him how to rule his lands. He could have sent word to Paris, but it would have taken long before anything came out of that, especially since Enguerrand wasn't doing anything illegal. For all he knew Richelieu might get the message first through his spies and decide that little matters like that shouldn't be brought to anyone's attention.

Another option was to alert one of his still loyal men or even someone at home, but he doubted either option would be of use in any way. Besides, he didn't want his sister to find out where he was and what he was doing. The sound of screeching metal was nothing to her constant nagging.

When he arrived to the inn, it was already starting to get dim. He was expecting to hear the usual buzz of conversation, drinking and laughter, but everything was too silent for his tastes. He stopped to the door and listened carefully to get some idea of what was going on inside. At first there was nothing, but then he heard Laurent's loud laughter.

Them again, he thought in irritation as he opened the door and entered. Several faces whipped around to his direction and everyone's eyes were suddenly on him. He locked eyes with Marcel's for a brief moment before walking across the hall to an empty table. From there, he took a better look at the scene.

There were many more guests in the inn than the previous night, and he guessed the townspeople had gathered to talk about the accident. As for Marcel and his friends, who were leaning against their table with beer in their hands, they had most likely come to gloat.

"I was wondering when you'd show up," Marcel called out, lifting his drink in a mock of a greeting.

"Then I assume you have something to say to me," Rochefort said.

"No, but I'm curious about what the Governor said to you. After all, he let you walk out alive," Marcel said, deliberately shouting so that everyone would hear. Rochefort glanced to his side where Amélie and Didier were standing, the latter holding a protective hand on the former's shoulder. No wonder Marcel was in a vicious mood.

"Maybe he isn't as prone to assaulting people as someone we all know," he said.

That made Marcel's smirk turn sour, and he when he spoke again, all humour was gone from his voice. "I'd be careful if I were you," he said. "I don't need the Governor's order if I want to kill someone."

He downed the last of his beer and turned to his friends, who weren't even close to finished. "Let's get out of here."

As they were leaving, Laurent turned back to address the people with a tip of his hat. "By the way, we heard about the accident," he said. "Terrible, terrible thing. I think all of you should be more careful so that things like that don't happen again." With that, he slammed the door shut after their group.

The atmosphere inside didn't improve much once the three men were gone. Everyone was still staring at Rochefort who was starting to feel a little self-conscious despite himself. He could only wonder what was going through everyone's head and whether they'd put more weight on him being a suspicious outsider or on that he was on bad terms with their enemy.

Amélie was the one to break the silence. She glanced nervously around and walked to Rochefort's table, asking him if he needed anything. The Count declined but asked if she knew how her uncle was doing.

"He broke his leg, but they say it'll probably heal," she replied.

Rochefort nodded. "That's good to hear," he added as an afterthought as Amélie was already turning away.

She smiled at him, and he suddenly remembered what he had been thinking about when returning to the inn. He had thought that nobody would blame him if he simply turned his back on these people's problem, but he now realised that there was at least one person who would look at him in contempt if he did that.

The image of Dogtanian staring at him with accusing eyes bothered him a lot more than he cared to admit.

**To be continued...**


	5. Chapter 5

Dogtanian and the Three Muskehounds is copyrighted to BRB Internacional.

**THE LOST PATH**

**Chapter 5**

Ninette was lying on her bed, staring at the ceiling. She had never been one to catch sleep easily, but now it was even harder for her to remain still. Excitement was bubbling inside her and she wanted to run and jump and shout her joy to everyone in the world. Right now, however, she had to settle with an uncontrollable grin on her face.

This was true love, she was certain of it. She had never felt this way about a living person before. Sure, she had had numerous crushes on the mysterious cavaliers of the stories Amélie sometimes told her, but those men weren't real and weren't going to scoop her up in their arms, no matter how much she wanted it.

But monsieur Fort, he was real. So real, in fact, that Ninette could hardly believe her luck. She would have never thought that a man like him, someone handsome, mysterious and obviously educated, would arrive in their pathetic little town. He was everything she wanted in a man, and with all the determination of her thirteen-year-old heart, she was certain that she would never again feel like this about anyone. Monsieur Fort was the right one for her.

She didn't mind it that he was rude to everyone and acted like he didn't care about them the slightest. It had to be just an act to hide his thoughtful and romantic nature, just like in the stories. All he needed was a beautiful lady to melt his heart and break that shell that was hiding his true self, and Ninette had decided to be that lady.

The problem was how she was going to make monsieur Fort see that. Amélie had been right about one thing; Ninette was still a little girl. She hadn't really started to show signs of impending womanhood yet, and she knew she wasn't going to charm anyone with her figure.

I'm just going to have to look really pretty, she thought. She decided that tomorrow she was going to wear the blue ribbons her mother had made her. She would also have to ask him about Paris again because Amélie had ruined it today for her.

She sighed in annoyance. Why did her sister have to be so stupid sometimes? Why couldn't she understand that Ninette simply wouldn't be happy with a boring life of work, work, and even more work? Keeping the inn standing was the most dreadful future Ninette could imagine for anyone, but Amélie had topped even that. She probably thought they were hiding it well, but Ninette had a long time ago noticed the looks her sister and Didier were giving each other. Honestly, what did Amélie see in that boring border collie?

Didier was always dirty because of his work and he had hardly any free time at all. All he ever talked about was what he had done at the smithy, or what he had sold at the market, or whether any interesting guests had come by the inn. So dull! Didier was no hero, he wasn't romantic, and he and Amélie would end up living a boring live in the town, never knowing about better things. Ninette almost pitied them, but she knew they were both unimaginative enough to appreciate that kind of dreadful life.

She wondered if monsieur Fort would take her to Spain with him once they were in love. She would be sad about leaving her papa behind, but just like the women in the stories, Ninette knew she would eventually be happier with her new, glorious life. They would ride together, he would whisper passionate words into her ear in the midst of the night, and when evil men would try to take her, he would rise to her defence and banish them with his sword.

No, wait. Monsieur Fort didn't have a sword. That was a stain in his otherwise shining armour and Ninette wondered worriedly if he was a man of action at all. As mysterious and handsome he was, she wasn't sure if she wanted to have a simple accountant as her husband. She frowned to herself, trying to solve this problem. Maybe he was one of those heroes who only acted like they were harmless and then surprised everyone when they least expected it?

But it that was true, why hadn't monsieur Fort done anything when Marcel had taunted him at the inn that evening? As usual, Ninette had been listening to what the adults were saying, and she had heard everything from how Uncle Jean was hurt, how the townspeople had suspected the Governor's men of causing the accident, and how Marcel and his friends had come to mock them.

When monsieur Fort had arrived, she had thought he would finally show Marcel his place, but none of that had happened. Was he, too, afraid of the Governor? Ninette gnawed on her lip at that. The image didn't fit into her fantasies at all.

Or maybe he was still waiting for the right moment.

* * *

When Rochefort exited his room the next morning and was planning to go down for breakfast, he spotted Ninette with her ear pressed against the door of the room next to his. Her brows were furrowed in concentration and she was obviously listening to something that was going on inside.

"And what do you think you're doing?" Rochefort asked.

Ninette quickly brought her finger to her lips and hissed furiously. "Shh! It's Amélie and Didier. I think they're kissing," she said.

It took Rochefort approximately one second to put a disapproving grimace on his face and drag Ninette away from the door. Well, there was actually very little dragging involved because the girl was all too happy to follow him.

"You should respect your sister's privacy," Rochefort remarked.

"They shouldn't be doing that because they aren't married yet, so it's wrong. I can tell papa if I want to, and that boring Didier wouldn't be allowed in here again," Ninette said.

"And you think it would be fun to ruin your sister's happiness?" Rochefort asked. His dragging had changed into walking down the stairs, hoping that the annoying pup would get the hint and leave him alone, but it seemed like someone had glued her to him.

Ninette pursed her lips thoughtfully and pointed a finger at her own cheek. "I guess you're right. It's not my fault she's going to waste her life with someone like Didier." She took a meaningful pause here. "I, on the other hand, I'm going to marry a hero!"

"Good luck at finding one," Rochefort said.

Something about his answer made Ninette sigh loudly and glare at him like he had just missed something significant. As his only sister was a few years older than him and he spent hardly any time with his nieces, Rochefort had never really dealt with little girls. He could only look at her in slight confusion, wondering what she wanted.

"I asked you about Paris yesterday," Ninette said as she sat down on the chair across the table Rochefort had picked himself. Apparently, she had no plans of leaving him in peace any time soon.

"Don't you have work to do here?" the Count asked. Paris was the last thing he wanted to talk about, especially with someone who had no grasp on reality.

"Nah, papa doesn't make me work," Ninette said. From what Rochefort had seen, Gagne didn't seem to be doing much work either, so keeping the inn was probably almost entirely on Amélie's shoulders. She worked hard, was modest and didn't stick her nose into other people's business. No wonder she was his favourite member in this family of three.

"So, about Paris… Have you been there?" the girl asked. She brushed a blue ribbon on her ear as she spoke, looking expectantly at Rochefort. He was starting to get the feeling that she wanted to impress him, and that was not a very comfortable thing to realise.

"It's not as great as they say," he said. Maybe the girl would leave him alone if he just tried to ignore her. He wouldn't be happy to snap at her to get lost and get himself kicked out of the inn in the process, but he'd rather do that than have a lovesick pup follow him around all day.

"So you _have_ been there! Tell me about it!"

"Ninette, how many times have I told you not to bother the guests?" came an annoyed voice from upstairs, and Amélie and Didier soon came to the hall. The woman was carrying basket full of dirty laundry whereas Didier had some tools in his hands.

Ninette stuck her tongue out at her sister. "I know what you two were doing up there!" she taunted.

"Don't be ridiculous! Didier was fixing the door that Uncle Jean broke when he was drunk last week!" Amélie snapped. Rochefort couldn't decide whether the blush on her face was from anger or guilty embarrassment and he briefly wondered if spending just a couple of days in this town had already turned him into a gossiper. He had better shape up a little before he became more pathetic than Widimer.

"Then why was it closed?"

"We had to see if it worked."

"Uhhuh."

Didier was turning an even deeper shade of red than Amélie and he hurried to the door. "I should really be going before Picard throws a fit," he mumbled and exited swiftly. Amélie stared after him with an annoyed frown.

"Great, now look what you did. You're making a fool of yourself in front of monsieur Fort here," she said to Ninette.

"We were getting along just fine before you interrupted us!" the girl threw back.

Rochefort decided the argument was worse on his ears than Widimer's wailing when they had had that shipwreck, so he abruptly got up and was about to go outside without breakfast, but that was when Gagne came downstairs as well. The innkeeper stifled a yawn and cast a questioning look at his daughters.

"What's the problem this time?" he asked.

The sisters looked at each other, and though Rochefort wasn't gifted with mind-reading, he could almost hear what they were thinking. A silent agreement was made; if Ninette told their father nothing about Amélie and Didier, her older sister wouldn't say a word about her bothering Rochefort.

Too bad he couldn't take part in bargaining because he was the one who lost and wouldn't get Ninette off his back.

"Nothing, papa," Amélie said quickly.

"Ah, good. You girls should behave yourselves in front of guests," Gagne said, yawning again. "And good morning to you, monsieur Fort. What have you planned for the day?"

"I think I'm going to visit the blacksmith. My horse lost a shoe when it trampled through the forest," Rochefort said. He had been planning to do that for a while now, but he was glad he had been delayed. Now he had an excuse to get away from Ninette for a while.

"I need to go to the town, as well. We're out of carrots," Amélie said.

"Oh! Then I'm coming, too! We can all go together," Ninette piped up excitedly.

Amélie glanced at Rochefort, having realised what her sister's motivation was. "You should help here and make papa breakfast," she said.

"No, that's alright. I can help myself. Besides, you're always saying how Ninette isn't helping you out," Gagne said, patting his youngest daughter on the head. The girl was beaming with pride.

"Alright, then, papa," Amélie sighed in defeat.

"Yay! Wait for me; I'm going to get my shoes!" Ninette said and rushed back upstairs. Gagne let out a light-hearted chuckle and made his way to the kitchen, leaving Rochefort and Amélie alone for a moment.

"I apologize for my sister. She can be a handful," the woman said.

"I'll manage," Rochefort said. He was one of the few men to survive a meeting with The Blue Falcon, so he shouldn't have any trouble handling a little girl.

"And… I hope you don't mind us tagging along. If you want to, I can hold her back until you manage to lose us by… accident," Amélie offered. There was a slight hint of a mischievous smile on her face. Rochefort could understand that; he had always enjoyed tricking his sister as well.

"No, that won't be necessary," he said. He had once called himself a cavalier, the least he could do was to act like gentleman to a woman who cared about his comfort.

Amélie's smile widened at that. "Thank you," she said, "To be honest, I didn't want to go alone with her."

Rochefort lifted a brow at that. Sure, the two sisters were complete opposites of each other, but he had expected the dislike to be only a surface. Most of all, he hadn't thought Amélie would openly admit resenting Ninette that much.

The woman had guessed his thoughts, and hurried to explain, "It's not that I don't like her, but… She's so sheltered. Papa has told me not to break her image of the perfect world, so being with her is really difficult. But you must think I'm heartless to say that." She looked shamefully at her feet as she finished.

"I don't get along with my sister either," Rochefort said, just to cheer her up. The trip to the town would be intolerable if Amélie wasn't being her usual strict and energetic self.

She looked up at him in surprise. "You have a sister, monsieur Fort? What's her name?"

"Isabelle," Rochefort said. For a moment, his thoughts turned to his older sister who was happily married, a mother of three, and the self-appointed matriarch of the Rochefort family, gleefully taking care of the property and lands with her husband while her scoundrel of a brother was having adventures in Paris. She was a lovely person as long as you were in her good books, and Rochefort hadn't had that honour in years.

"Pretty name. Where are you from?"

Rochefort took a moment to reply, during which he wondered what to say. He hadn't lived on their lands for years now and didn't feel particularly at home there. "Paris," he finally said. The city wasn't his home either, but it he had always felt more comfortable in the big city.

Amélie noticed his reluctant answer. "Sorry. I shouldn't have asked," she said.

"It doesn't matter. My life isn't a very interesting subject to talk about," Rochefort said, hoping that they could leave it at that. He wasn't ready or willing to share much of his past with anyone he hardly knew, especially since it would break his cover as the harmless accountant and he didn't think he needed to angst to anyone quite at this point.

"Whose is?" Amélie said with a laugh. "Unlike Ninette thinks, most of us are just common folk with no tragic pasts."

"What about me?" came a demanding voice, and Ninette danced down the stairs. She was a graceful little creature, and she still had some childlike innocence in her steps.

"Just talking about how silly you are," Amélie said, actually smiling at her sister.

"I'm not," Ninette said frowning. "Do you think I'm silly, monsieur Fort?"

"I think all girls are silly," Rochefort said. He thought about what Amélie had said earlier and wondered why Gagne was trying to protect his youngest daughter so much and from what. There didn't seem to be anything dangerous to her in the town.

In fact, as far as Rochefort was concerned, Amélie was the one in bigger danger. She was older and while she wasn't a stunning beauty, she was well-developed and pretty enough to attract glances. He had seen how Marcel had treated her that first night, and he wouldn't be surprised if she had to deal with something like that every time the man dropped by the inn.

They stepped outside and started heading towards the centre of the town where most stores and the smithy were located.

Ninette pouted. "I'm almost fourteen, so I'm not a girl anymore. I'm old enough to get married," she said.

"Papa won't let you get married before me," Amélie said. "Besides, you have to be responsible and ready to work and take care of the children when you marry. Do you really want to do that already?"

"I'm going to marry a nobleman, so I don't have to work. I'll just wear pretty dresses and go to parties," Ninette declared.

Rochefort would have liked to point out that there was much more to the life of a noblewoman and that not all of it was pleasant, but he decided to stay away from the sisters' argument. The last thing he wanted was either of them getting suspicious about how he had such information.

"You'll still have to give your husband children. I helped Marie give birth last year, remember? It's not pretty," Amélie said.

Ninette pondered that for a while. "Then I'm not going to have any children," she said.

"No nobleman is going to marry a woman who won't give him an heir," Amélie argued.

"Then I'll marry someone who just well-to-do but not noble. Like monsieur Fort," Ninette said, flashing a smile at him.

Rochefort shifted uncomfortably. "Really, now…"

"Stop fooling around! We have more important things to do than talk about this," Amélie snapped at her sister.

Ninette looked like she wanted to argue, but she closed her mouth after taking one glance at Rochefort and his annoyed expression. The Count guessed the girl had realised that she wasn't going to get anywhere by continuing the debate.

They arrived to the smithy first and decided to break up for a moment in order to get everything done sooner. Ninette wanted to stay with Rochefort, but Amélie dragged her sister along, saying that it wasn't proper for her to stick her nose into other people's business.

Rochefort breathed a sigh of relief as the sisters disappeared behind a corner. He didn't mind Amélie that much; she was sensible and down to earth, and talking with her wouldn't probably be too terrible of an experience if they could do it without something interrupting all the time.

He entered the smithy, which was one of the few times he had done it in his life. His squire had always made all the arrangements, including taking care of his horse.

"Hi there, monsieur Fort!" came Didier's cheerful greeting. "Do you need something?" The young man was currently carving something into a piece of iron, but he put it away when he saw Rochefort arrive.

"I have to get new shoes for my horse," the Count said.

"Oh yes, one was missing, right? How's the leg doing?" Didier asked.

"It's fine. I'll probably be able to ride it again in a week, give or take a few days."

Didier nodded, making a small grimace in the process. "Then you'll probably be safely out of here when it explodes," he said.

"What do you mean?"

"You weren't there yesterday when we were talking about the accident, but most people realised quickly that the Governor was behind it. This is the first time someone has got seriously hurt, and everyone is pretty upset. Soon enough, some of us are going to do something to strike back, and it won't be pretty," Didier said.

"The law is on the Governor's side," Rochefort pointed out. Rebelling against authority had always infuriated him because the common people never understood the big picture or politics that were behind everything. Then again, in this case he was starting to feel more and more tempted to sympathise with them.

"The law is wrong, then!" Didier snapped. "Someone should do something about him! If his brother knew what was going on, he would help us somehow. I think it's our responsibility to do something if our rulers are that incompetent."

"That's dangerously close to revolutionary thinking," Rochefort said, not being able to keep the contempt he felt for rebels and revolutionists away from his voice.

Didier slit his eyes and glared at him. "So, you think the Governor has the right to treat us any way he wants? Just because he belongs to a higher class?" he demanded.

In Rochefort's opinion, some people were simply better than others, and often you could point your finger at them by looking at their family tree. On the other hand, there was Dogtanian, a lad from a non-aristocratic family, so there were exceptions to the rule. And he couldn't forget his father's words about the responsibility that came with power and position, though he hadn't give those words very much thought in years.

"No, I don't' think he's right. It's still not a good idea to do something stupid that you'll regret later," he said.

"I know, but… I just feel so helpless. The Governor is ruining our lives, and sooner or later we will have to give in and move, and that will be the end of us," Didier said. He sighed and looked away from Rochefort, staring at the tool still in his hand.

"Can I ask you something?" he asked all of a sudden.

"Go ahead."

Didier looked a little sheepish all of a sudden, and Rochefort could guess that he wouldn't like the question, whatever it was.

"Monsieur Fort, are you married?"

"Me?" Rochefort asked in surprise. With him being on the road alone, he didn't think he looked like a husband, or at least a good husband, to anyone.

"I hope I'm not being too intrusive, but I really want some advice, and Picard isn't the person to help me with this," Didier said. Since the lad didn't mention a father or other close male relative, Rochefort came to the conclusion that he didn't have any.

"No, I'm not married," he said. Of course, his father had always been nagging at him to pick a suitable noblewoman and have a son or two, and his sister was continuing that now that their parents were dead. The truth was that he had never been able to find a woman he could imagine living with, and he didn't think one would appear any day soon. He'd probably die a bachelor.

"Oh," Didier said in disappointment. "I want to ask Amélie's father if I could marry her, but I don't know how to go about it. I can't offer her anything because I'm still an apprentice and with this mess with the Governor…"

Rochefort crossed his arms on his chest. "Then why don't you wait? Judging by this morning, she's not likely to run off with another man," he said.

The other dog blushed and chuckled. "No, but I'm still so nervous about it," he said.

"Anyway, about the shoes for my horse…" Rochefort said, reminding the young man that he was there on business, not to have an idle chat.

"Oh, right. I can come and take a look at the horse later tonight. Picard is fixing the wagon that broke yesterday, so he's going to be busy for most of the day," Didier said.

"I hear the injured man is doing alright," Rochefort said.

"That's right. Jean is the innkeeper's brother. The injury wasn't that bad and he's got such a huge loving family around him that he's going to be just fine," Didier said, but his expression darkened again. "But who knows what will happen next?"

Rochefort nodded. He said a quick goodbye to Didier and told him he was going to find Amélie and Ninette and promised to say hi to them from the blacksmith's apprentice.

"Don't tell Amélie what I said!" Didier shouted after him, and Rochefort lifted his arm reassuringly.

* * *

"Thank you and have a nice day!" Amélie said to the old woman as she put a dozen onions into her basket.

"You, too, Amélie. It's nice that you brought Ninette along. She has grown so much since I last saw her," the woman said with a smile and gestured for the lighter dog to get closer.

Ninette let the woman pat her head and smiled brightly at her, snickering politely when the old merchant said something funny. Looking at her like that, Amélie could hardly believe that this was the same girl who was so terrible to her at home. In public, Ninette was the sweetest and most adorable thing she had ever seen, and she wished her sister could have been like that to her as well.

She's just doing it to charm everyone and to get her way, she thought in slight annoyance. Ninette was young, but she had already mastered the art of showing and saying people exactly what they wanted. She would grow into a master manipulator one day.

A voice inside her reminded her that she wasn't supposed to think that way about her own sister, but there was nothing she could do at the irritation that was worming its way inside her, becoming stronger and stronger as time went by. However, she was determined to keep it as a secret. It wouldn't do to disappoint papa and to make everyone worry about her.

"Come on, now. We still have shopping to do," she said, hiding her annoyance under a cheerful tone. Ninette wasn't the only one who could act.

The two of them waved happily at the old woman and then continued on their way.

"You shouldn't do that," Amélie said once she was sure nobody could hear.

"Do what?" Ninette asked, frowning in confusion. She was munching on an apple the old woman had given her.

"Trick people like that. You were only nice to her because you wanted that apple," Amélie scolded. She was surprised to hear how strict her own voice sounded. Was she really that upset?

"I wasn't! I really do like her!" Ninette objected, stopping to cast an accusing glare at her sister. The way she was scowling and how her lips were pursed, it almost looked convincing to Amélie. However, she had lived with her sister long enough to know her tricks by now. She didn't push the issue but simply walked past her sister.

"I do!" Ninette shouted after her.

She's so childish, Amélie thought as she noticed that Ninette was no longer following her. Well, if she wanted to be like that, she could go back home alone.

It didn't take her long to finish her shopping, but time was still crawling for her. At the moment, all she wanted was to get back to the inn and bury herself into some work to get her mind off her spoiled little sister.

Someone should give that little brat a good spanking and introduce her to the realities of life, she fumed with a determined scowl. Ninette had been allowed to have her way for too long. Someone should tell her she wasn't the centre of the world and no better than anyone else.

"Papa shouldn't treat her special just because she looks like mother," she muttered to herself as she counted how much the vegetables had cost altogether. However, she didn't get very far with that because she noticed Rochefort walking down the street to her direction.

"Did you get what you wanted?" she asked, pushing her annoyance away for a moment. At least monsieur Fort can see the real Ninette, she thought.

Rochefort nodded. "I'm done. What about you?" he asked.

"Yes, I have everything. We can go back unless you still have some business here," Amélie said.

"No, I have nothing." Rochefort paused for a moment to take a glance around. "Where is your sister?"

"Uh, she got mad when I told her to stop her silly games and disappeared somewhere. She can find her own way home," Amélie said. She felt her harsh words sting a little in their heart, but the feeling soon faded into distant discomfort that she was able to tolerate.

Rochefort lifted a brow at her but didn't offer any comments. Amélie had thought he might side with her right away, so she felt almost betrayed by that he didn't seem to care that much about the issue.

Suddenly, the sound of distant screams coming from another street reached their ears. They took one confused look at each other and jumped into motion, rushing through a small alleyway to see what was going on.

Amélie froze on her tracks when she saw the chaos that had taken over the marketplace. Almost all stands had been crushed and the street was buried in vegetables and fruit, most of which had been smashed into a pulp under the panicking people and the hooves of the horses. People were running everywhere, looking for the friends and family that had been lost into the chaos, and screams, shouts and crying filled the air.

At the centre of the action were three very familiar figures on horseback, riding through the street and making everything they came across fall or break. Laurent was taking particular joy from kicking down every stand he could reach and giving the townspeople's horses small stabs with his sword; not serious enough to cause real damage but definitely painful enough to make the animals panic and add to the chaos.

"Where's Ninette?" Amélie realised all of a sudden. This was where she had last seen her sister but she was no longer in sight. All her previous annoyance and anger were forgotten as worry took over her heart. She would never forgive herself if something happened to Ninette just because she had left her on her own.

She darted to the street in order to find her sister, but she managed to take only a few steps before strong arms pulled her back.

"Don't be an idiot!" Rochefort hissed at her.

"I have to find Ninette!" Amélie snapped back. She turned to look at the chaotic street. Things were slowly starting to calm down, but Marcel and his friends were still there, happily doing as much damage as they could and riding around the people who hadn't been able to escape. The street was narrow, so getting caught there was dangerous for anyone.

She looked pleadingly at Rochefort, and he seemed undecided about something for a moment, as if he was having some inner debate. Finally, he let go of her and pushed her back into the alley where it was shadowy and safe.

"Stay here," he said.

"What about Ninette?" Amélie asked.

"I'll find her," Rochefort said and turned away before Amélie had the chance to object or thank him.

The thought didn't cross her mind at that moment, but when she thought back to it later that night, she realised that Rochefort had looked like he had been ashamed of something.

* * *

He barely managed to jump out of the way in time to avoid being stomped to the ground under the hooves of a panicked horse, and he cursed to himself as he picked himself up from the cobbled street. Playing a hero like this and searching for the foolish girl hadn't been part of his plans, but how could he have left her alone in the chaos? As irritating as he found her to be, Rochefort didn't want to add the death of a little girl on his list of things he regretted.

"Blasted girl," he growled when he couldn't see a sign of her anywhere. Where could she have got to? Maybe she had been clever enough to get herself to safety once Marcel and his friends arrived, but somehow Rochefort doubted that.

He hid behind a fallen vegetable stand when Marcel rode to that particular street from behind a corner. Thankfully, the lean dog didn't see him and Rochefort could soon continue his search. He didn't think Marcel and his friends would stick around for much longer; they had already achieved what they had wanted, namely destroying everything in sight and causing terrible damage to all the merchants.

Laurent's shrill laughter from another street caught his attention and he rushed there, just in time to see the man encourage his horse to stand on its hind legs. Cowering in the corner in the horse's shadow was none other than Ninette. She had hidden her face in her hands and was trying to get as far away from the horse's dangerous hooves as possible, but there was no way out from the corner.

A group of terrified onlookers had gathered around to see what would happen to the girl, and Rochefort had to make his way through them.

"Get out of my way, you idiots!" he snapped, shoving a young man to the ground when he wouldn't move otherwise.

"Well, if it isn't our dear monsieur Fort himself!" Laurent said in pleased surprise when he noticed Rochefort's arrival.

"Let the girl go," Rochefort ordered.

"And why should I?" Laurent asked. He positioned his horse so that it was impossible for Ninette to escape if she didn't want to crawl through the horse's legs and she was too terrified to even attempt that. She had moved her hands enough to see what was going on and was staring at Rochefort with eyes pleading for help.

"Because threatening a little girl isn't something a cavalier would do!" Rochefort snapped.

"And what do you know about cavaliers?" Laurent asked with a laugh. He pointed his sword at Rochefort, daring him to get closer. "Well, aren't you going to save her?"

Rochefort pondered his options. He wasn't suicidal, so rushing into action in a futile attempt to save Ninette and get himself killed in the process was the last of his options. From the corner of his eye he noticed that Amélie had defied his word and had followed him after all. His irritation at people not listening to him was diminished when he realised that all he needed to do was to lure Laurent elsewhere and Amélie could pick up her crying sister.

"Forget about her. Let's finish what we started last time instead," he said.

Laurent snorted. "And what weapon are you going to use this time? A spoon?" However, he seemed to be genuinely considering the suggestion, and Rochefort thought the situation could be solved that easily. He hadn't planned ahead enough to know what he was going to do with Laurent, but he would think about it once he no longer had to worry about Ninette.

"You insult me. That would give me too much of an advantage," he said.

"Bah! You're terribly cocky for someone who is going to die soon," Laurent said. Having made his decision, he turned his horse around and rode it away from the corner, chuckling as people hurried to get out of his way.

Rochefort followed, not turning back to see how Amélie ran to Ninette and scooped her sister into her arms, letting the girl bury her face against her neck and cry. That was no longer his concern.

"Well?" Laurent asked as he stopped his horse.

Rochefort crossed his arms on his chest and lifted a brow at the other man. "You're still on horseback," he pointed out.

"I never said it was going to be a fair fight," Laurent said. Without a warning, he slashed with his sword, aiming for Rochefort's shoulder, the one where Milady had wounded him. The Count managed to jump back just in time, but the tip of the sword made a small rip on his clothes.

He quickly picked himself up from the kneeling position on the ground and rolled aside when Laurent's horse's hooves came stomping down right where he had been. He took cover behind a fallen stand and glanced around to find something he could use to defend himself.

Apart from vegetables, there was nothing. He picked up a cabbage and was briefly reminded of the massive food fight he, Dogtanian, and Pip had had in the royal kitchen. Hoping this one wouldn't take that long, he aimed the vegetable at Laurent.

The sight of the black dog being hit in the head and falling off his horse would have been funny if Rochefort hadn't known that it would only make Laurent angrier and more dangerous. Well, at least he wasn't riding a horse anymore.

Laurent took a moment to pick himself up from the street and once he had drawn a deep breath, he growled, "You're going to regret that!" He charged at Rochefort with his sword and would have probably injured the Count if the sound of Marcel's voice hadn't distracted them both.

"Laurent, what are you doing?" the man asked.

"What does it look like? I'm finally killing this pest!" Laurent snapped, looking behind his shoulder to glare at his friend. Rochefort used the moment to pick up a fallen broom, though he felt quite ridiculous holding it.

"I thought I made it clear that I was the one to do that. Move aside," Marcel said. He guided his horse closer and Laurent backed off reluctantly, scolding at being denied his fun.

Rochefort looked up to Marcel and wondered if the man was going to continue from where Laurent had been left. The same was apparently going through everyone else's mind as well because the crowd around them had grown silent and nobody was trying to get away to safety; seeing what would happen was much more interesting. He spotted Amélie and Ninette among the townspeople, both looking at him with worry.

"I want to challenge you to a duel. Right now," Marcel announced.

"Wasn't last time enough for you?" Rochefort asked. He really wasn't in the mood to continue this stupidity.

"You didn't win that fight, remember? You only got the upper hand because you cheated and threatened Piers's life," Marcel pointed out.

"It was hardly a fair fight in the first place. I didn't have a sword," Rochefort countered.

Marcel snorted. "That can be fixed. I will get you a sword and then we'll have a real duel. I'm curious to see how good an accountant can really be," he said. He turned back to order Laurent to hand over his sword, but the black dog looked everything but happy about that.

"Do as I say!" Marcel snapped at his reluctant friend, and finally Laurent took a step closer and offered his sword to Rochefort.

The Count only had to take one look at it to see that it was a masterpiece and the kind of sword he would have carried with pride only a few weeks ago. The temptation to just take the offer, have a duel with Marcel and avoid any further humiliation was stronger than ever; his hands were itching to handle a sword again.

However, he could recall all too clearly his own words after the duel with Dogtanian. "Milady's actions have shamed me. I will never allow myself to touch a sword again," was what he was vowed to Dogtanian, the Musketeers and most of all, to himself. Living with the knowledge that his honour was irreversibly stained was difficult enough; he wasn't about to make it worse by breaking the one honourable vow he had made in his life.

"No," he said, still looking at the sword.

"No?" Marcel repeated in surprise.

"As you said, I'm an accountant. I don't handle swords. Duels are also illegal," Rochefort said, finally glancing up to the dog.

"But… You obviously have the skill to use one. Just take it and we'll settle this once and for all!" Marcel said, his voice rising in anger as he saw Rochefort shook his head.

"Nothing you do will make me pick up a sword," he said and threw even the broom away as emphasis.

Marcel's face twisted in sudden rage. "You're ready to have a silly food fight with Laurent, but won't accept an honourable duel?" he demanded. When Rochefort offered no reply, Marcel spat angrily to the ground and guided his horse closer. Before Rochefort even realised what the other man was doing, Marcel had kicked him to the face and sent him falling to the street.

"I wouldn't have thought you to be such a coward!" the man snapped. "Come on, Laurent, let's find Piers and get out of here!"

Rochefort got up from the ground, holding his face. It wasn't bleeding and he didn't mind the pain, but he felt his blood boil at the thought that a common crook had dared to insult him like that and kick him! The nerve! He was glad that Marcel had left because he wasn't sure if he could have resisted the temptation at that moment and not accepted the challenge after all.

"Monsieur Fort! Are you alright?" Amélie and Ninette ran over to him, their previous arguments completely forgotten for the moment.

"Let me take a look at that," Amélie said, trying to pull Rochefort's hand away from his face.

"I'm fine, it's nothing!" he snapped, taking a defensive step back from the woman.

"Nonsense! We're going home right now and you'll let me do something about that!" Amélie snapped right back. Rochefort didn't particularly like the idea of being dragged around by a woman so much younger than him, but one warning look from Ninette told him that it would be foolish to argue with Amélie right now.

"She always goes like that when someone is hurt," the girl whispered to him. "You should have seen her when Didier hit himself with his hammer!"

However, Rochefort barely heard her words. His mind was busy going over those last moments with Marcel and he found a new kind of hatred for the man in his heart. Terrorising the peasants and being an utterly unpleasant person was one thing, but humiliating him like that in front of everyone was too much. He wouldn't stand that one moment longer.

This had just become personal, and Count Rochefort made his second vow in defence of his honour. He wouldn't leave this town behind until he had paid back to the arrogant man.

**To be continued...**


	6. Chapter 6

Dogtanian and the Three Muskehounds is copyrighted to BRB Internacional.

**THE LOST PATH**

**Chapter 6**

When he woke up the next morning, it took Rochefort a moment to remember why his face was aching so much. He pressed his hand on his cheek and winced at the pain that shot through the bone, but at least it wasn't as bad as it could have been.

Amélie had been stubborn in her determination to treat him, but there hadn't been much for her to do. She had quickly come to the conclusion that his cheekbone could be slightly cracked, but there was no serious injury and his face would heal well on its own.

Much more fuss had been over what had happened at the marketplace. Gagne had nearly gone insane when he had heard about Ninette and how she had almost been stomped to death, and he had spat curses at his older daughter for leaving her sister behind. Amélie had cried almost the entire evening, apologizing furiously to both her father and Ninette.

Ninette forgave quickly and even tried to calm her father down, but he was so mad that he accidentally ended up snapping at her, making her cry as well. Then he had started apologizing as well, and Rochefort had used that moment to get as far away from the disturbed family as he could. He had retired to his room to think, but Gagne had paid him a visit later on that evening.

"You've become somewhat of a local hero," the man had said as he took a seat.

"For what? All I did was being kicked down to the ground," Rochefort had said, quite bitterly even in his own ears.

Gagne had shaken his head. "Don't even try saying that. Nobody else has had the courage to defy Marcel like that. You've really lifted up everyone's spirits. Even those merchants who lost the day's income are down here in my inn, drinking and talking about you. You should come down as well."

Rochefort had thought that being in the spotlight and the object of every peasant's adoration was the last thing he wanted, but he had used much more polite words when turning down the offer. Gagne had thanked him for saving Ninette, and Rochefort had listened in silence to the man's speech about what a great man he was. After a while, he had started to feel a little embarrassed. He didn't think even Dogtanian deserved that much praise.

"That's enough," he had said, interrupting Gagne's heartfelt rant. The innkeeper had then offered him a free room for as long as he needed to stay in town, and though he had tried, Rochefort hadn't been able to change the man's mind about that.

He shook his head at the memory. Being treated like he was some kind of hero made him feel uncomfortable because he knew that saving one girl didn't come even close to making up for what he had done in Richelieu's service. Anyone could help damsels in distress, but it took a very special kind of man to conspire against the Queen and take part in what could easily be seen as treason.

One look into the mirror that was hanging on the wall made him grimace. A massive bruise had started to form on his face and he looked like he had been in a drunken fistfight. His sister would have been mortified to see him like that, and the thought of that cheered Rochefort up a little.

He got dressed and went downstairs. It was still early, so he was right when he guessed that only Amélie would be up and at work. She was cooking something delicious in the kitchen, but Rochefort had nothing to say to her and he didn't want to bother her for idle chat, so he headed outside and went to the stables.

It was about time he started thinking about his horse and how long it would take before he was able to leave the town. The injured leg had got enough rest now and he should be able to take the horse out for a little walk to test it.

His horse neighed as a greeting when he arrived and for a moment, he felt reassured that at least something in his life was still the same. It wasn't that he was attached to the animal or anything, or at least that's what he told himself, but it was the only thing that still tied him back to Paris and being a cavalier.

Looks like his holiday is over, he though as he checked up on the injured leg. He wasn't sentimental enough to talk to the animal, unless he was mad at it for something.

He didn't want to take the horse out until he had had breakfast, so he climbed to sit on an old chest and leaned back against the wall. There was some thinking he had to do.

The passionate fury that Marcel's insult had made him feel the previous day had faded into an ember, but it flared up again whenever he recalled the man's arrogance and how he had dared to treat him like second-rate scum. It was unforgivable and Rochefort knew he wouldn't be able to make himself leave until he had seen justice served.

The problem was that he didn't know how to do it. The only proper way to restore hurt honour was to have a duel, and that was out of question for him. Of course, they could have used pistols instead of swords, but he had always considered them weapons meant for cowards, and Milady's actions had only proved his point.

His thinking was interrupted when he heard someone arrive at the stables, pulling a grey horse behind them.

"Hi there," the stranger said with a nod.

The first thing Rochefort noticed about the man was that he was a fox. Most foxes he had ever known were either criminals or among the lowest ranks of the Cardinal's Guards, and that immediately made him suspicious of the newcomer. It was an unfair stereotype, he knew, but there was nothing he could do about the wary feeling he got from the man, even if he was dressed in fine clothes and had a pleasant smile on his face. He was also carrying a sword.

"Do you work here? Could you look after my horse?" the fox asked.

"I'm a guest," Rochefort stated, not happy about being mistaken for a stable boy. Even if he was pretending to be a common nobody, he had to look better than that!

"My apologies," the fox said, though he didn't look very sorry. He put his horse into one of the empty boxes and then brushed his hands on his trousers.

"Do you know if they serve breakfast here?" he asked, turning back to Rochefort.

"They do, but not this early. You have to wait for an hour or two," the Count replied. He was still trying to decide whether the fox's behaviour made him seem more or less suspicious than his species indicated, and he found it difficult not to stare at him.

"Hmm. What else can you expect in little towns like this?" the fox muttered, glancing to his side. He seemed to ponder something for a moment, but then his face brightened unexpectedly and he tipped his massive hat at Rochefort.

"I'm Emile Morin, by the way. It might be useful to know each other's names if we're going to stay in the same inn," he said.

"Henri Fort," Rochefort said. The stranger didn't seem like a bad character, but that didn't make him trust him. It was possible Morin was just putting on an act to lure him into feeling a false sense of security.

"Great. I wish I could offer some kind of intelligent comment here, but I've been travelling the whole night and am more than ready to fall to bed," Morin said. As if on cue, he let out a massive yawn and shook his head to clear his muddy thoughts.

"I'm not much of a conversationalist, so it doesn't matter," Rochefort said.

"Oh, what a pity. I was already entertaining myself with the thought of having a drink or two with you," Morin said. He paused for a moment and continued, "Say, what happened to your face?"

Rochefort scowled. He had been expecting that question. "Trouble with the locals," was all he said, and his reply made the friendly smile on Morin's face falter a little.

"Oh. I see," the fox said, and though the tone of his voice hadn't changed much, Rochefort could feel the man's eyes drill into him in suspicion. Something about what he had said had obviously struck a chord in the fox.

Morin excused himself, saying he wanted to talk to someone in the inn. Rochefort watched him go and played thoughtfully with his moustache. There was something curious about that fox and he had the feeling that he would know what it was sooner or later.

* * *

Governor Enguerrand was far from a happy man when his men came to report to him about their latest attempt at scaring the villagers. On the surface, everything had gone well and they had managed to cause enough destruction and chaos to give a blow to the townspeople's spirit, but there had been one massive mistake that he couldn't overlook.

"One of my spies has told me that your old friend Fort has made some name for himself because of your actions," he growled, watching how all three men in front of him stiffened anxiously.

"Care to explain how that happened?" he continued.

"It wasn't our fault. Anyone could have done the same, but only he was stupid enough to try, probably because he's not local and doesn't know how powerful you are," Marcel said. The Governor snorted at the man's pathetic attempt of flattery.

"You challenged him into a duel. That alone makes it look like you consider him a worthy opponent, but he had the courage to refuse in front of everyone," he said.

"With all respect, doesn't that make him a coward?" Piers piped in. In return, Enguerrand's eyes turned to him and the man shut up immediately.

"Not in the eyes of the simple peasants. They will remember him as the hero who saved that little girl and was intelligent enough to turn down a duel when it would have meant certain death to him," the Governor said.

He tapped his fingers against his desk in a simple rhythm and waited if any of his men had more excuses to offer. When it became apparent that they didn't, his frown grew deeper.

"In other words," he said, "you have helped to create a local hero whose actions will lift the spirits and render everything you did yesterday useless!"

"But… what could we have done?" Laurent asked.

"Killing him right there might have been a good idea," Enguerrand offered dryly.

"I have an idea," Laurent said, not a hint of fear in his voice. The Governor nodded at him, so the man continued, "It's obvious that Fort isn't really interested in the affairs of the townspeople. That he happened to be in the right place yesterday was merely a coincidence."

"Yes?" Enguerrand asked. A thought was already forming in his head, but he wanted to hear if Laurent had got the same idea.

The black dog licked his lips eagerly. "They see him as a hero now, but if they were to find out that he isn't really on their side, that he's just a selfish traveller on his way to a better life, they might realise that there is nobody in France who wants to help them."

"That could be the final blow we need!" Piers added, eager to say something the Governor might look favourably upon.

"Indeed," Enguerrand said, crossing his hands on the desk. The accountant had seemed sincere in his wish to continue his journey and have nothing to do with what was going on in the area.

"But how do we accomplish that?" Marcel asked doubtfully. He seemed to be the only one who wasn't excited about this plan, and Enguerrand noticed that. He made a mental note to keep an eye on Marcel in case the man decided to go solo and do something stupid – like having a duel with their enemy after all.

"First of all, you three will stop giving him opportunities to show off. Once his horse is healed, he will have to move on and hurry to his master in Spain. Once he's about to leave, you will attack the townspeople again. They will see that Fort won't stay to help them, and after that it's going to be easy to twist them into our will," he said.

"Sounds easy enough," Laurent said. Piers was nodding enthusiastically, but Marcel seemed to be deep in thought.

"Do you have objections?" Enguerrand asked.

The slim dog jumped a little in surprise at being addressed and quickly shook his head.

"No, Governor. Nothing," he said.

"Good."

* * *

"Scaring the people with stupid little tricks like this is no fun. Next time, we need to do something bigger. Something the townspeople can't just shrug off," Laurent complained as they were walking away from the Governor's study.

"What do you suggest we do? If we go too far, others will notice that something is going on in this area," Marcel pointed out angrily.

"But our tactics aren't working! Whatever we do, the idiots just gather in the inn and talk and drink their troubles away!" Laurent snapped.

"But we can't just kill someone," Piers said. On the other hand, he agreed with Laurent. Scaring common townspeople and making their life difficult had stopped being entertaining a long time ago. Now it was just pathetic. Seeing that little girl cry in the corner and how that Fort fellow had saved her had made him feel like he was nothing but a bully, and that was a new feeling to him. He was all too happy to keep quiet until Fort left and the townspeople were more eager to move.

"That's actually an interesting idea," Marcel said, flashing him a smile.

"Are you serious?" Laurent asked, though his surprise couldn't hide his eagerness. Piers had always been a little disturbed by how easy Laurent was to lure into the most insane plots. "Who are we going to kill?"

"Enguerrand isn't going to like that," Piers tried to warn.

Marcel stopped and his friends followed the example. "Now, listen to me. I just got a great idea." He turned to nod at Laurent. "You said that they just go to the inn and get over their troubles."

"Yes?" Laurent asked.

"But what if there was no inn? What would happen then?" Marcel asked.

For a moment, confusion masked Laurent's face, but soon enough a knowing grin appeared on his face. "I see! And if someone gets hurt in the process, it's only going to work into our favour!" he said.

"You aren't really going to…?" Piers asked. "Enguerrand is going to find out about that."

Marcel glared at him. "Don't you see what a great idea it is? We'll get rid of Fort for good and after this incident the townspeople will be too scared to even whimper when the Governor nicely asks them to move again," he said. "Besides, you should watch what you say. Don't forget that why you walk as a free man now is entirely my doing."

Piers bowed his head and said nothing. It was true that he owed everything he had to Marcel, but that didn't mean he had to agree with anything the man said. In his opinion, Marcel's newest idea went too far and wasn't even entertaining anymore.

"I take it you don't like the Governor's plan, then?" Laurent asked Marcel.

"No. I think we should kill Fort while we have the chance. I am curious about how he'd do in a duel against me, but I can do without that if I have to." He paused to gaze into distance for a minute, and Piers suspected that their leader was a lot more eager to face the accountant in battle than he admitted to them.

"We haven't killed anyone yet. Do you want to cross the line?" he asked.

"Speak for yourself," Laurent chuckled, and Piers was reminded of that at least one of them had already stained their hands with blood, though that case had nothing to do with the townspeople. He could still remember when he had first met Laurent, as that was the day when he had seen someone killed for the first time in his life.

He decided to try a different strategy. "What about Amélie? She could get hurt if you go through with your plot," he warned.

"I have thought about that, and I will make sure nothing happens to her," Marcel snapped, as if insulted by that someone even suggested he could be that careless.

Laurent snorted and rolled his eyes. "I don't understand what you see in that woman. She's not even pretty and it's obvious she doesn't like you," he said.

For once Piers had to agree with something Laurent said. Amélie wasn't among the most attractive women in the town, and with her somewhat plump figure and hands hardened in work, she paled in comparison to her peers. And she definitely didn't seem to return Marcel's feelings, being overly polite to him and barely able to hide her fear and disgust when the man pulled her close.

"It's not about what she wants," was all Marcel said. That didn't sound too good in Piers's ears, but he decided he already had too many things in his mind to be interested in yet another.

* * *

Rochefort didn't see Morin again until later in the evening when he was having a late dinner in the inn. He had taken his horse on a short walk to test the leg and spent the rest of the day locked up in his room. He didn't want to show his face in the town before everyone had more or less moved on and forgotten what had happened the previous day.

Frowning was the only way he reacted when Morin invited himself over to his table and sat down. The fox took off his hat and for a moment he did nothing but watch Rochefort eat in silence.

"Trouble with the locals, huh?" he finally said. Rochefort couldn't decide if the man was mocking him or genuinely amused.

"What do you want?" he asked.

"My, you weren't kidding. You really aren't much of a talker," Morin chuckled. Something in the relaxed way he was leaning back against his chair and talking like he had no worries in the world reminded Rochefort of Laurent, apart from that Morin had not yet shown signs of the sadistic streak the black dog had.

He didn't reply as he had already asked a question and not received a proper answer. Morin kept smiling for another moment until his expression turned thoughtful.

"You know," he started, "I talked to the innkeeper's daughter this morning. She told me about yesterday."

"And?" Rochefort asked.

"And I would like to talk to you about that. Right now," Morin said. That made Rochefort look up from his plate, but he couldn't read the fox's intentions on his face. The man was again smiling curiously at him. Rochefort noticed now that Morin had very dark eyes.

"Then talk," he said.

Morin leaned closer and whispered, "Not here. Let's go for a walk."

Rochefort glanced warily at the man, remembering the odd way Morin had looked at him in the morning. Luring him out into the darkening night could be a simple trap to stab him in the back, and there was no way of knowing whether Morin was working for the Governor or not. He decided there was only one way to know for sure.

"Alright," he said. "Let's go."

The air outside was crisp and there was a scent of the nearing autumn that could only be noticed in the countryside. It was like clear water, sour berries and mushrooms mixed together, and Rochefort couldn't stop wondering about it. Compared to that, the great city of Paris stank like a rotten fish stuffed into an old sock and left in the sun.

"Well?" he asked, turning to his companion. He couldn't see too well in the dark, but the light pouring from the windows of the inn made his silhouette visible. As long as they didn't go to roam the nightly streets, Morin wouldn't be able to surprise him.

"You know what kind of people I despise the most in the world?" the fox asked. His tone was light, as if he was merely contemplating a philosophical problem and not talking about something he loathed. Rochefort didn't think he was expected to answer the question, so he remained silent and waited what Morin would say next. He hoped it would be something more significant that explaining his moral code to him.

"God bless the King, but there are many festering boils in France, and most of them can be found in the upper classes. Nobles, priests, and rich men who think their lives and happiness are more important than those of the common people, simply because they were born to the right parents or can afford every pleasure in life," Morin said. He still didn't let any bitter emotion show in his voice, so Rochefort wasn't sure if the man had formed this opinion through bad personal experience. What he was saying, though, was nothing new to him. He had had to listen to such talk throughout his life, but it had never affected him very much.

"I believe you're referring to Governor Enguerrand," he said. If anything, his new acquaintance probably wasn't working for the man if he had such radical opinions.

"In this case, yes," Morin spat, finally letting some of his fury through.

"You are from this area, then?" Rochefort asked, waving his hand towards the town. Maybe Morin had been travelling and had just come back home, only to discover what was going on. It could explain why he had taken Rochefort's answer about his face that way in the morning.

The fox shook his head, the big white feather in his hat swaying up and down. "No, I've never been here before in my life," he said. It was impossible to say for sure in the dark, but Rochefort felt like the man was giving him a thoughtful glance.

"One doesn't have to know these people to feel sympathy for them," Morin finally said.

"There are many who would disagree with you," Rochefort pointed out.

"Maybe. Shall we walk? Little exercise is always good after eating. Don't you think the pie they served was delicious? I don't think I've had anything like that since I left home!" Morin said, switching back to being his light-hearted self. Despite this, Rochefort got the feeling that the man wasn't done talking yet.

The Count had decided that Morin wasn't likely to assault him in the dark, so he didn't object to the suggestion. They started walking down the main road leading to the centre of the town. The lit windows gave them some light, but mostly they were left in darkness. It didn't seem to bother Morin, though, and Rochefort remembered someone once telling him that foxes could see well in the dark and were therefore good spies. Maybe it had been Milady. She was certainly someone who would know.

"Amélie told me you were quite a hero yesterday. Saved a girl and stood up against the Governor's men. That's an achievement for an accountant," Morin said as they walked.

"I did what was necessary," Rochefort said. He didn't care for the tone in Morin's voice. Somehow, it was as if he had suddenly become the suspicious one and the fox was trying to figure out if he was dangerous. He felt a jolt of defensiveness over that; he had been in the town first and knew these people better. Who was Morin to question him like that?

"So, no sympathy involved?" the fox asked.

"None at all," Rochefort replied. To himself he could admit that Amélie, Didier and the others were no longer just unfamiliar faces and annoying pests to him, but he still wouldn't have claimed any attachment for them, at least not out loud.

"Hmm. Since you admit that, I can probably go straight to my point," Morin said. He stopped walking and for a brief moment, Rochefort thought the man was going to attack him after all, but he relaxed when the fox just continued talking, "What do you want from these people?"

Rochefort blinked in confusion. "Me? I don't want anything," he said.

"Yet you help them and have managed to gain their trust. I had to take one look into your eyes this morning and I knew exactly what kind of man you are," Morin said. Without the cheerful tone in his voice, he sounded like an entirely different man.

"And what am I like?" Rochefort asked. He was curious to hear Morin's opinion of him, but he had the feeling he wouldn't like it very much. Even his own analysis of himself hadn't been very flattering lately.

"You're cunning, you can be cruel and ruthless when you think it's needed, and you are ready to use whatever means necessary to achieve what you want. Moreover, you don't care about these people and even admit it yourself. You're also a liar," Morin listed, counting the qualities with the fingers of his right hand.

"What have I lied about?" Rochefort demanded, not even trying to keep the irritation from his voice. The fact that most of what Morin had said was true didn't help at all.

The fox leaned against the wall of the house next to him and shrugged. "It's obvious that you aren't an accountant, or even if you are, it's not the entire truth. The way you carry yourself when you walk and how you keep a continuous eye on your surroundings tells me that you're a fighter," he said.

Rochefort opened his mouth to remind the man of that he wasn't carrying a sword and hadn't accepted Marcel's challenge, but Morin continued before he had the chance to say anything.

"Yes, I know what you're going to say, and that makes it more curious. You're a cunning fighter who has made everyone believe the lies you tell about yourself. I'm tempted to believe that Fort isn't even your real name. All of this makes me suspicious of you," he said.

"Why do you even care? I have no business with you," Rochefort growled. He noted that he didn't even try to defend himself against the man's accusations. It would have been useless anyway. Morin filled at least one stereotype about his species down to a T; he was very perceptive and intelligent.

"It's because unlike you, I care about people other than myself. I don't want to see anyone in this town be hurt because you made them think you're their hero. Men like you are capable of the most hideous crimes and twisting them around in their head so that they still feel like everything they do is just and right."

Rochefort wanted to reply to that, say something that would have made him different from the kind of men Morin was describing, but the man's words echoed his own thoughts from the past few weeks. Wasn't that exactly what he had been doing in Richelieu's service? Even after plotting to sink Dogtanian's ship so that he would be thought lost at sea he had thought himself a man of honour. The poison had been the last straw for him, but he didn't even want to count all the crimes he had committed, or planned to, before that.

"I'll see you later," Morin said and turned around to return to the inn. He gave the Count a lazy wave as he went, but Rochefort barely noticed it.

It took him a while before he felt he could return to the light of the inn.

**To be continued...**


	7. Chapter 7

Dogtanian and the Three Muskehounds is copyrighted to BRB Internacional.

**THE LOST PATH**

**Chapter 7**

When Rochefort woke up the next day, he was feeling everything but good and it took him a moment to realise why he was already being that sour so early in the morning. Morin's words hadn't left him alone the entire night, even after he had climbed up to his room and decided to put them past him.

He was above everything that some random traveller had the nerve to say about him, he had thought. Even if those words held some truth in them. He had therefore gone straight to bed, not wanting to have to stand Morin's presence down in the hall. Similarly, he was now reluctant to go downstairs for breakfast because he knew he would meet the man there.

It wasn't that he was avoiding him, or what he had said, he tried to reason. He simply didn't like the man and it was sensible to stay out of his way in that case. A nagging voice in his head tried to remind him that he wasn't the one who should have done the hiding, if it could be called that.

Nevertheless, he decided to spend the day outdoors with his horse. The animal had seemed happy to be out of the stables the previous day, and Rochefort could use a day out of the town as well. He ate a quick breakfast, bought some leftovers from last night's meal and headed outside, ready to be alone for a change.

Amélie came out to watch as he took out his horse. She had been somewhat quiet lately, and Rochefort guessed she was still upset about the lecture her father had given her about leaving Ninette alone. He agreed with Gagne; it had been irresponsible to go on without Ninette just because they had had an argument, but from what he had seen, Gagne was ignoring his oldest daughter in favour of the younger. It was no wonder Amélie was starting to show signs of bitterness.

"Where are you going?" the woman asked.

"I'll be in the woods to north. I saw a river there when I rode through it here, so I'll take a look at it," Rochefort said.

"Be careful. The current can get dangerously fast in places," Amélie said.

"I'm not planning to go swimming," Rochefort pointed out. He saw Amélie lower her gaze at that, and he had to resist the urge to roll his eyes. What was it about women that made them so stupidly fragile sometimes? He had been expecting better from a woman who could take care of an inn almost entirely on her own.

"Don't look so downhearted. It's not like there's anything wrong," he said to her.

She didn't even try to smile, which surprised him somewhat. "So many things are wrong and I've only now started realising it," she said. For a moment, it looked like she might want to confide in him, but she withdraw quickly. It didn't matter. Rochefort shot one more glance at her before leading his horse away from the yard without another word.

Everyone who saw him waved or shouted a greeting at him, but he hardly paid them any attention. The townspeople were in a cheerful mood now, but he knew it would only last until the Governor sent his men to do more damage. They had no chance and sooner or later they would just have to give in and move.

He hoped he would be long gone by then. The townspeople's cheerfulness towards him when they were doomed was very annoying and he didn't like it how it made him feel like he had the responsibility to do something about the Governor.

It took him a little over a half an hour to reach the river. He followed the stream for a while until he found a decent spot in the forest and could tie his horse to a tree. The area he had found was exactly what he had been looking for. It was away from the road and surrounded by the forest, so it was unlikely anyone would notice him unless they knew where to look. The river was pouring past the tree he had chosen, and the rumble was loud enough to bury all sounds of the forest under it. He liked that because silence made him think too much.

He took one glance east and tried to measure how far the nearest mountains were. He knew it was maybe a week's way to reach the border, but that was it. He wasn't very familiar with the eastern parts of France, but he had to be close to the mountain area for the river to be flowing that fast.

He sat down in the grass and leaned against the massive tree. It felt good to be on his own again. Sure, he hadn't spent even a week in the town, but he was starting to feel tired of it, as if the town was somehow suffocating him. He had never felt that way in Paris, or any other city or town he'd visited, so it puzzled him somewhat.

One thing he would have to decide was what to do about what Marcel. Just the previous day he had been determined to pay the man back for humiliating him like that in the street, but he was starting to have second thoughts about it now. Not because he thought he couldn't do it, but because it was too troublesome and would only get him deeper into the mess he wanted no part of.

It would be the best to simply move on as soon as his horse was ready, which probably wouldn't take longer than another week. In theory, he could have left earlier, but Rochefort didn't want to take the risk of the injury coming back. Still, the idea of spending any more time in the town was unbearable.

What happened, he wondered, gazing up to what little could be seen of the sky through the leaves of the tree. Of course, the answer was simple to him. He hadn't started feeling uncomfortable until Morin had come, spouting his self-righteous rubbish. Before that, Rochefort had almost felt at ease in the town.

It was the fact that Morin had a point that was nibbling at him. In his heart, Rochefort knew that a truly honourable man would have cared about what was going on and done his best to help. He could easily imagine Dogtanian racing into the Governor's mansion to give the man a piece of his mind, fighting with a dozen of Enguerrand's men in the process. His friends from Paris would be assisting him and together they'd stop the Governor's plot and return victorious to Paris.

He was a realist enough to know that he couldn't have done that, and it wasn't his style anyway. However, what was within his power was the idea he had had in the very beginning. He could send a word to Paris and tell the older Enguerrand what his brother was doing in his lands.

With some amount of self-disgust Rochefort realised that he had been too busy feeling miserable about his last duel with Dogtanian and ignoring his actions in the past to even seriously consider helping anyone. He was correct in that it wasn't his business in any way, but standing back and watching from the sides was no longer as appealing as it had been in the beginning.

However, he had to wonder whether this newly-found sense of responsibility was what he really felt, or whether he was just trying to prove Morin's words incorrect. Having another man give such an accurate description of him after knowing him for hardly a day was disheartening; he didn't want to think he was so obvious in his... some would have called it villainy, others dishonour. To him they were the one and the same.

He thought back to that final duel with Dogtanian and recalled his words in the end of it. He had said his honour had been shamed by Milady's actions, but now he found himself wondering whether anything she had done could cause as much damage as his own actions now. After all, he had no control over what others did, but he could make his own decisions.

Growling in frustration, he picked a stone from his side and hurled it to the river. This town would remain in his thoughts for long even after he had left it behind, but it was up to him to decide how he would be able to look back to it.

He had been thinking about what Dogtanian would do in the same situation, and the answer was obvious to him. Despite this, he hadn't followed that same route, though he knew it was the correct and honourable one. It was like he had given up trying to act like a man of honour simply because he had retired his sword, as if everything in his life had been defined by carrying one.

With that realisation came a decision. He didn't think he could ever again call himself a true cavalier in the same sense as Dogtanian, but that didn't mean he had to live the rest of his life in misery, not caring about anything or anyone.

* * *

Being alone was something Ninette usually couldn't stand, but now she was glad nobody needed her. She hadn't been feeling like herself after the incident in the street, even after the first shock had faded, and she found herself constantly thinking back to the terrible ordeal.

If someone had asked her only a couple of days before if she would like to be in mortal danger and saved by none other than Rochefort, she would have gleefully replied yes. Her mind would have been filled with romantic ideas and adventures, but those seemed awfully distant to her now. Those moments in the street had been nothing like her fantasies.

She had been frozen in fear when Laurent had noticed her in the corner and decided to torment her, and she never wanted to feel that kind of chilling terror again. She had been so helpless, unable to control her body or thoughts, and she had been certain that she would be trampled to death. If that was the price to be paid for being rescued by a dashing hero, she'd rather back away from the deal.

Especially if the actual saving was as anticlimactic as that. Rochefort hadn't scooped her up in his arms, hadn't offered her a shoulder to cry on, hadn't whispered soothing words into hear ear and promised everything would alright now that they were together. He had barely even glanced in her direction! Ninette's lips pursed in sour disappointment at the mere thought of it. Her so called hero had acted like an inconsiderate jerk!

It had been Amélie who had buried her in her arms, and they had cried together as Rochefort had faced Laurent and Marcel. At that point, Ninette had been in too much shock to pay proper attention to what was going on around her, but she had seen how Marcel had kicked Rochefort to the street. The hero of her dreams would have leapt up and defeated their enemy in a mighty duel, but Rochefort hadn't even accepted the challenge.

Was he afraid? Ninette was starting to feel a little silly for having such a massive crush on a man who obviously wasn't any better than the others. She had been lured by his unfamiliarity and the mysterious aura around him, but she could now see that there was nothing glorious beyond those.

Too bad it had taken such an experience to shatter her perfect images. Still, she wasn't about to give up like that. One day she would meet a real hero, preferably one who wasn't afraid to pick up a sword and defend her with it. In fact, she decided to claim this crush as her first failed relationship because it meant she wasn't inexperienced anymore and could pursue her next love with wiser moves.

Getting over Rochefort was easy, but she had a harder time when it came to her sister. Amélie had been very upset with her that day, and Ninette couldn't understand what had got into her sister. They had never been best friends in the way some of her friends were with their sisters, but Ninette didn't dislike Amélie. Despite being somewhat boring, Amélie made good food, smiled a lot, and she did a good job at taking care of the inn. Their father had got lazy at it when their mother had died, and Ninette knew the place wouldn't have been standing anymore without her sister.

I wonder if she fancied monsieur Fort as well, she thought to herself. That could explain why Amélie had been so sour about her feelings for the accountant, but Ninette had a hard time believing it. Amélie had seemed to be in so much love with Didier, and the blacksmith's apprentice certainly followed her around like a love-sick puppy.

She got up from her bed where she had been lying and decided to go downstairs and ask Amélie what was bothering her. Burying one's bad feelings inside was stupid in Ninette's opinion, and she was sick of how her father and sister were always doing it. She had been able to talk about everything with her mother, but everyone else in the family was so reluctant to show what was in their mind. It was frustrating, really.

The hall was usually empty at that time of the day, so Ninette was a little surprised to see that new guest sitting there all by himself. She hadn't had the chance to talk with him yet, though she had got a look at him while having breakfast the previous morning. He seemed much more like what her ideal hero would be in the inside; polite, funny and honourable, but he lacked the dark and mysterious aura that made heroes attractive. Also, Ninette didn't go for foxes.

"Ah, good day to you, my lady!" the man greeted him as she arrived.

"Hello," she said, feeling shy all of a sudden. It was stupid. She hadn't been like that with Rochefort and _he _had been the one she had loved.

"I take it you're one of the charming daughters of the innkeeper. I don't think I've had the pleasure of meeting you before," the fox said.

"Yes, I'm Ninette and papa doesn't like it when I mingle with customers," Ninette explained.

The fox nodded in agreement. "And that is very wise of him. Who knows what kind of scoundrels could be on the move?" He next took off his hat and placed it on the table, then turned to look back at Ninette with a charming cross of a smile and a smirk.

"I'm Emile Morin," he said.

"Are you a soldier?" Ninette asked, noticing the sword hanging on Morin's belt. She noticed how the fox's eye twisted a little at that, and for a moment his face was taken over by a frown. However, he hid it quickly and brought back his smile.

"No, I don't have the pleasure of being among the finest of France," he said. He leaned forward and leaned his chin against his palm. "Say, my little lady," he started with a wink, "since your papa doesn't let you get overly familiar with the guest, you probably don't know much about them, right?"

"Oh, no! I listen to them in secret every night! I know everything!" Ninette said. She felt a little annoyed by being called little, so she wanted to prove that she could be useful.

Morin laughed. "How clever of you! In that case, would you mind telling me something about Henri Fort?" he asked.

Ninette frowned. "Why do you want to know?" she asked.

"Oh, I'm just curious. I heard the story of how he saved you, and I'd very much like to know more about him. Since you were part of that adventure as well, there's no harm in you sharing some extra details. Or maybe you're already bored with telling that story?" Morin said silkily.

Ninette was clever enough to realise that the man was trying to charm her into spilling everything about Rochefort, but she didn't mind. Nobody had asked her about how she had felt after her adventure because everyone had been too busy listening to her father tell about it. It was flattering that this charming gentleman was interested in hearing her side of the things. She figured Rochefort wouldn't be insulted if she told Morin how she felt about him.

"Well, everyone here seems to like him a lot, especially now after he saved me and stood up to Marcel that day, but I have to admit that I was never very smitten with him," she said eagerly.

"Oh, and why is that?" Morin asked.

"I think it's because I can see through people, and I can tell you that monsieur Fort is not the hero everyone thinks he is. If he were, he would have accepted Marcel's challenge and duelled with him, right? But my sister Amélie seems to like him a lot," Ninette reasoned. She didn't feel one bit guilty about twisting the truth a little. She didn't want to tell Morin about her stupid feelings.

"Do you think your sister might want to run away with him?" Morin asked.

Ninette blinked at that. She hadn't even thought about it, so ludicrous was the idea. "What? No! She would never do that because she's… she's just not that kind of person," she said. She almost said that Amélie was in love with Didier, but at the last moment she decided she didn't want to reveal her sister's biggest secret to a complete stranger.

"Anyway," she went on, "did anyone tell you about the time when monsieur Fort was almost killed by Marcel?"

Morin nodded. "Yes, your father told me that story as well. So, he was attacked on his way out of here? Do you have any idea why?" he asked.

"Nope. The Governor's men attack everyone they think is a threat. Maybe they thought monsieur Fort was going to tell about them to someone?" Ninette reasoned.

"Maybe," Morin agreed. He leaned back in his chair and scratched his chin, looking thoughtfully into the distance. Then he turned his attention back to Ninette. "Are you afraid of him?"

"Why would I be?" the girl asked. "Sure, he's not the most pleasant person, but he's not evil, is he?"

"Haha, of course not," Morin said with a smile. "Thanks for exchanging a word with me. It's always a little disheartening to come to these small towns where everyone knows everyone else and you end up feeling like an outsider."

"No problem. I like getting to know new people. Where are you from, monsieur Morin?" Ninette asked.

"From here and there. I don't really have a home," the man said. He must have seen the confused look on Ninette's face because he quickly continued, "That's the way it is with travellers, little lady, but you get used to it fast."

He stood up and picked up his hat. "Anyway, I think I'm going to try and find monsieur Fort. Your sister said he would be near the river in the forest. I have something I want to talk to him about," he said.

Ninette nodded and told Morin the directions to the river. Once the man was gone, she decided to go to the kitchen and talk to her sister like she had originally planned to. She reached the door and almost pushed it open, but it was then that she heard Didier's voice from the other side.

"I'm sure you just exaggerating it. Of course your father loves you!" he was saying.

Ninette froze at that and pulled her hand back from the door. She frowned in curiosity. What was going on inside?

She heard Amélie answer, "Maybe, but not even half as much as he loves Ninette. She's his little nugget of gold and he cares more about her happiness than mine! Why do you think Ninette doesn't have to do any work, why papa is always on her side or why he spoils her that much?"

Ninette felt a twist in her stomach. She had thought Amélie was only joking with her when she said all those things to her; she had had no idea that her sister was serious. Her first instinct was to storm angrily away from her idiotic sister, but she found herself glued to the door. She had to hear more.

"Well, she's younger…" Didier tried to reason, though his voice has lost some of the earlier reassurance.

"That's what I've been telling myself all this time, but she's almost fourteen! I've been working here since I was ten!" Amélie snapped. After a while, she continued and Ninette could hear tears in her voice, "I think it's because of mama. The inn could barely support us back then, and she was already so sick. The stress and work finally broke her. I think papa doesn't want the same to happen to Ninette."

"Come on, now," Didier shushed. Ninette imagined him wrapping his arms around her sister's shivering shoulders. If the subject of their conversation had been anything else, she would have been jealous of the romantic attention Amélie was getting. Now, however, she was mortified to hear all that her sister had to say.

"It must be because Ninette is so much like mama. No wonder papa loves her more," Amélie said.

That was as much as Ninette was ready to hear. She quietly backed away from the door and climbed up to her room where she fell on her bed, feeling dazed. She hadn't even realised that Amélie was feeling that way or that she was unhappy with her work.

She should have said something, she thought in annoyance. How can she expect anything to change when she pretends everything is alright? Then again, maybe there was fault within her as well. She had been all too happy to accept all the attention their father was showering upon her, and she had not even once thought about how Amélie had to feel about it. Ninette was so used to thinking of Amélie as the strong older sister who had become the central woman in her life after their mother's death that it had felt natural for her to do all the work and take all the responsibilities on her shoulders.

Maybe that's what papa feels as well, she thought. He might not have realised that in his eagerness to save his younger daughter from her mother's fate, he was pushing the other daughter towards it.

Ninette shook her head to herself. Mama would have been so angry at all three of them. The girl knew exactly that she would have given everyone a good lecture about the importance of talking to each other and showing what you felt. Ninette wasn't about to do that, but she decided to do something else about the situation.

Gathering her courage and fighting the uneasy feeling in her gut, she went back downstairs. She wanted to see when Didier left so that she could go and talk to Amélie alone. After a few moments, she saw the blacksmith's apprentice emerge from the kitchen, and she quickly rushed behind a corner. For some reason, she felt a little ashamed and didn't want to face Didier at the moment.

Once he was gone, she tiptoed to the kitchen door and pushed it open. Amélie was working on dough and didn't notice her sister arrive. She wasn't crying anymore, but there was an ugly scowl on her face and she was handling the dough like she wanted to kill it.

"Hey," Ninette called out.

"Yes?" Amélie asked, but she didn't turn around. Ninette stepped in and closed the door after her. She sat on her usual stool.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"We're running out of bread," Amélie replied. She still wasn't looking at her sister, and Ninette found herself growing irritated at that.

"Can I help?" she asked, pushing her annoyance to the back of her mind.

This finally got Amélie's attention. "Help? You?" she asked in surprise, whirling around to stare at the younger dog.

Ninette shrugged. "I think it's about time I learnt how to do that," she said. Apologizing was something she wasn't used to doing, so she felt reluctant about doing it. Maybe later once she had broken the ice a little, but not yet.

"I don't know…" Amélie said, eyeing her suspiciously. "Why the sudden change? Did papa tell you to help me?"

"Papa has nothing to do with this. I just thought I could help," Ninette said.

The doubtful scowl on Amélie's face told Ninette that her sister didn't believe her one bit, but she still made room for her and gestured for her to come over. She showed her what to do with the dough and then stood back and watched.

It was more difficult than Ninette had expected, and her hands quickly grew tired of the grinding. She wondered how Amélie had managed to do this alone for all these years without complaining.

"You know," she started.

"If you're getting tired, I can take it from here," Amélie said before Ninette could continue. The girl glanced back to her sister with a frown. Was she that eager to get rid of her? Maybe it was understandable, she thought as she returned her attention to the dough. Amélie had had a terrible time lately, with papa blaming her for everything and ignoring her.

"That's alright, I can do it," she said. After a moment, she decided to try starting a conversation again. "I don't think it was your fault," she said.

There was no need for clarification; Amélie knew immediately what her sister was referring to. She didn't say anything and Ninette didn't want to turn back to look at her again.

"I mean, you couldn't have known that those crooks would come, right?" she continued.

Amélie sighed. "What are you getting at?" she demanded.

"I'm just trying to say that it was wrong of papa to yell at you. You did nothing wrong," Ninette said. She was trying to remind herself that it was alright for Amélie to be frustrated, but she couldn't quite keep her own irritation away from her voice. Couldn't her sister see that she was trying to be nice?

"Don't be silly. I shouldn't have left you alone," Amélie said edgily. She took one look at the dough Ninette was working on and pushed her sister aside. "Let me do it."

Ninette backed away with a shrug; it was clear she needed more practise with this. She cleaned her hands and went back to sitting on the stool.

"I'm not a child anymore. I can handle myself," she pointed out.

"Since when? As far as I remember, you consider yourself adult when it's time to have fun and child when someone might ask you to take some responsibility," Amélie said. The icy tone in her voice made Ninette wince, but she guessed the comment wasn't entirely uncalled for.

"I know," she said, "but I just realised that maybe I should really start growing up." Alright, this conversation wasn't going where she had planned and it didn't seem like Amélie was actually buying anything she was saying. Ninette guessed they had both inherited this stubbornness from their mother.

A snort from Amélie was the only reaction she got, and she sighed and rolled her eyes. She wondered what to say next.

"Really, Ninette. I'm not in the mood for this. Just leave me alone," Amélie pleaded.

"But…"

"Please."

Ninette bit her lip and blinked a couple of times, feeling that angry tears would flow if she let herself slip. She had tried to be so nice to Amélie, but it was like her sister didn't even want to listen! How was she ever going to make things better this way?

She swallowed. "I just want to help," she said.

Amélie whirled around so fast that Ninette almost fell from the stool in surprise at the furious expression on her sister's face. Her eyes were blazing and her features were twisted into an ugly scowl that made her look almost scary. Ninette had never seen her like that.

"Help?" Amélie repeated. "That's some talk coming from you! You have never done anything useful in this house! I have to do everything alone because papa is too busy toting on you!" she snapped.

"I…" Ninette started to reply, but her sister wasn't quite finished.

"You're so spoiled, selfish, and childish that you're never going to survive on your own!" she continued, then took a moment to ponder something, a vicious and unfamiliar gleam entering her brown eyes. "And you know what? I'm going to be so happy to see you struggle! Maybe then you'll understand!"

Ninette could only gape, her mouth half open but and no coherent thoughts forming in her mind. She had never seen Amélie lose control of herself like that, and she felt like she was currently sharing the room with someone she had never met before in her life. That shrieking and upset young woman, hateful tears streaming down her cheeks, was not her friendly, warm and helpful big sister.

Her voice was hoarse and barely audible as she whispered, "Amélie". She didn't have any idea what to say. Did her sister hate her that much? She had though Amélie was simply a little upset, but this looked like she had been holding so much bitterness and disappointment inside her that she couldn't keep them from overflowing anymore – and all it had taken was one bad lecture from papa to bring her to the edge.

"I'm sorry," she finally said.

"As if," Amélie said, turning away. She had calmed down only seconds after her outburst, and now she was looking even ashamed about it. It was so like Amélie to try to be so sensible and pretend that nothing was wrong, even if she ended up hurting herself, Ninette thought.

"No, really," she insisted. "I know that papa has made you do all the work and hasn't said thanks even once, even though you've kept all of us together. And I'm even worse, skipping around in my daydreams and not doing anything to help." That last bit she said with downcast eyes and embarrassment in her voice. She couldn't believe she had been so blind!

"Anyway, I'm not surprised if you hate me," she continued and wiped her eyes. She couldn't remember when she had started crying herself.

"I don't hate you," Amélie said reluctantly. "I'm just sick of how you get to live the life that I never had and how papa loves you more. I guess it's only to be expected, you're so much like mama, after all…"

"Don't be an idiot! Papa loves you just as much! He's just an oaf and doesn't know how to say it, just like you. Why haven't you said anything?" Ninette demanded. She wanted to become angry so that her crying would finally stop, but she found that she was entirely unable to control her own body.

"We were finally happy after mama's death, and I didn't want to break that," Amélie said.

"You're so stupid! Mama would be so angry at us if she knew how we've ruined everything!" Ninette snapped. "Now we have to start everything over and do it all again to make it better! I don't want you to be unhappy."

As if on a whim, Amélie suddenly knelt by Ninette's side and captured her into her arms. The girl buried her face against her sister's neck and they cried together for a long time.

* * *

Piers liked silence. He had always preferred solitude to the company of others because everyone had always ignored him. When he was alone, he didn't have to feel lonely but in a crowd he was always reminded of that he wasn't truly part of the group and nobody was truly his friend. However, since he came from a large family, he had rarely had the luxury of withdrawing to himself.

Of course, he had shed these childish ideas of woe as he had grown up and learnt to accept being pushed aside. It no longer made him angry or sad; he had long since learnt to take it with a straight face and use it to his advantage. Nobody ever paid him any attention, so he could get away with things others would find impossible. There was something in his short form and blank face that made people trust him, so he had never had any trouble mingling into a crowd and getting exactly what he wanted. Despite this, he still preferred being alone with this thoughts in silence.

Except that this time he found it unsettling for the first time in his life. He had thought that it would be easy to follow the Governor's orders and keep a low profile until that accountant had left, but instead he realised that doing nothing was many times more unnerving.

Marcel and Laurent could be seen conversing in hushed tones and stopping or changing the subject whenever they saw Piers arrive. The two of them were obviously planning something big, and Piers had a sinking feeling in his stomach that it would bring misery to the town and probably threaten their entire operation.

It wasn't that he cared about the townspeople, not at all. They reminded him of his own family; ever so cheerful, happy and ignorant of what was really going on around them. This was why he couldn't see himself feeling sympathy for them in any situation, and he wanted as little to do with them as his own family, whom he hadn't seen or heard about in years.

However, he knew that if Marcel and Laurent were left to put their plans into motion without any supervision, something terrible would happen and it might be too much for the town; they might send word to other districts or even Paris and reveal the Governor's plans to the entire France. Then Piers would be forced to find a new job, and he didn't want that. Despite his dislike for the countryside, he was paid well by the Governor and all his work consisted of riding to the town and scaring the pathetic townspeople a little. He wanted no change to that.

"They're going to ruin everything," he muttered to himself. He didn't know the details of their plan, but he was certain that it had something to do with the inn and its inhabitants. That included that blasted Fort, and Piers had the feeling that Marcel and Laurent wouldn't wait until the man was safely out of the area.

I can only hope they'll get him killed this time, he thought to himself. Letting the accountant live through their plot would be an idiotic mistake because he was then certain to inform someone of what was going on. If his two friends, if they could be called that, would just wait for another week, all problems would be lifted from their shoulders.

His thoughts were brought to an abrupt halt when the door was slammed open and Laurent stepped in. He went straight to his bed, knelt by it and pulled a little box from under it. The black dog slipped a hand into his pocket and pulled out a key which he used to open the box, then slowly opened it.

Piers followed this little scene with mild interest, but tried to look like he had something else in his mind. Unfortunately, he couldn't see what Laurent took from the box and soon enough it was locked and put away again. What ever his comrade had taken was quickly pushed into another pocket on his vest.

"You doing anything special tonight?" Laurent asked. A smirk was playing on his face. Piers could guess that whatever Laurent had in mind was bad for everyone.

"No. Why do you ask?" he replied. He knew that no matter how much he disliked the idea of going against the Governor's orders and risking everything they had gained, his curiosity would force him to take part. He also reasoned that as long as he was present, he could make sure their future suffered as little damage as possible.

Laurent chuckled. "Me and Marcel, we're planning something big," he said.

"I've noticed. Care to share the details?" Piers asked.

"Haha, don't be silly! I wouldn't want to ruin the surprise!" Laurent laughed. Seeing the annoyed frown on Piers's face, he continued, "But believe me, you'll like. It's definitely going to bring some light into these dark countryside nights!" With that, the other dog went out again.

Piers leaned his chin on his hand and pursed his lips in thought. Who knew what would happen that night?

* * *

Morin didn't like to think of himself as the kind of man who was quick to jump to conclusions and judged people too harshly. As a fox, he had suffered because of that very thing early on in his life when he had still wanted to claim a high position in the French society, so he was always careful to get to know people before deciding what his opinion of them was.

Still, even he couldn't deny the power of first impressions, and his first glimpse of Rochefort had been nothing but negative. The man was arrogant and while he couldn't be described as openly rude, he had an indifferent attitude to everything that was going on around him, as if he either didn't care or was convinced that nothing was worth his attention. He acted more like a snobby nobleman than the honest accountant he was claiming to be.

This Morin could have handled by simply avoiding the man. However, one look in Rochefort's eyes had told him that he was dealing with someone who had seen and caused much misery in his life. Most likely his indifference was connected to that as well. This knowing and cruel look in the man's eyes would usually have been enough to convince the fox of that Rochefort was the kind of man he didn't want to associate with, unless he was putting him behind the bars.

Yet there was something about the man that stopped Morin from giving his final judgement. Maybe it was how Rochefort hadn't tried to deny what Morin had accused him of the previous night or how the man had helped the townspeople, whether he had ulterior motives or not. The fox was ready to give the man one final chance to prove that he wasn't the merciless cavalier he thought he was – and Rochefort was definitely used to handling a sword, that Morin was certain of.

Maybe he has a good reason to pretend that he's someone he isn't, he thought as he was riding to the direction Ninette had given him. He could understand that a man sometimes had to take a long look at their life and decide a new direction for it. It was what he had done years ago, and he thought he could see something familiar in Rochefort when he looked at him.

He reached the river after a while and took a moment to decide whether he would follow it upstream or downstream. He finally settled with the former because the route there looked easier to travel; there were fewer trees and the undergrowth didn't resemble an impenetrable labyrinth of bushes and vines.

Morin wasn't certain what he was going to do when he found Rochefort. The two of them had nothing to talk about and he doubted the other man would be happy to see him. His previous words had been harsh, but he didn't regret a single one of them.

For the past years, he had travelled all around France and seen the same story play out everywhere; the common people lived in misery and were being exploited and abused by those in power. The local governor of this district was particularly outrageous in his arrogance and thirst for money, and Morin felt his stomach turn just at the thought of it. He didn't entertain foolish ideas about being able to make a difference for he was only a common traveller, but he was determined to make sure that the townspeople wouldn't suffer even more by being betrayed by someone they had grown to trust.

I have to make him see reason, he thought. He didn't know if Rochefort was even planning to gain anything from his stay in the town, but if he were, Morin would convince him to change his mind. Maybe he would have to end up fighting him to achieve that, but that didn't bother him. The fox knew he was an excellent swordsman and he had a past to prove it with as well. The only problem was how to duel with a man who obviously was reluctant to handle a sword.

That was something else that Morin found mysterious and intriguing about Rochefort, but he had no time to ponder about that because it was then that he saw the man ahead. Rochefort was leaning against a thick tree, seemingly asleep with his hat lying on his side.

I had better announce my presence, Morin thought as he rode closer. He didn't want to make the man thing he was spying on him, after all. However, before he had the time to do that, Rochefort straightened his form and turned to look at him.

So, he heard me after all. Quite an achievement here with the river rumbling like that, Morin thought.

"What do you want?" Rochefort asked with a vicious edge in his voice.

"I guess you aren't happy to see me," Morin said as he got down from his horse and tied the animal to a tree.

"I was planning to spend the day alone," Rochefort pointed out. "Speaking with you is the last thing I wanted to do."

That's to be expected, Morin thought. He walked over to the other man and sat near the bank of the river. Rochefort's frown deepened at that as he realised that Morin wasn't leaving soon.

"You still haven't answered my question. Did you forget something from your analysis yesterday?" the man asked.

"Not really, but I thought I'd try to look past first impressions this time around. Who knows what will come up once we get to know each other," Morin replies.

"What makes you think I want to learn to know you?" Rochefort snapped, and Morin realised he was trying the man's patience maybe a little too much. He guessed he shouldn't have been surprised. He wouldn't have wanted to associate with a man who had called him a complete crook either.

The fox took off his large hat and placed it to the ground. "I'm just worried about the townspeople," he said.

"I wasn't aware that you're their official guardian," Rochefort said. Morin took notice of that when angered, the man became annoyingly sarcastic. He hated that feature in people and sarcasm in general.

"Listen, maybe I was too rash yesterday, but you remind me so much of the kind of people I've seen cause trouble before. If you can honestly, with your hand on your heart, swear that you really are just a simple accountant and nothing more, do so now and I will leave you alone," he said.

As he had expected, only silence followed.

"Whatever I am should be no concern of yours, or anyone else's for that matter," Rochefort said after a while. He had calmed down a little and his tone didn't make Morin feel like the man wanted to stab him to the heart anymore. Instead, it sounded like Rochefort was more upset at himself. It was no surprise. Men who acted like that usually had ghosts in their past.

"I can understand wanting to keep one's past to oneself," Morin said. "However--"

"You're misguided in thinking that I would deliberately do anything to harm these people. They aren't worth my time," Rochefort interrupted.

"Hmm," Morin said doubtfully. He was starting to get the feeling that he had been both right and wrong about this man. On one hand, Rochefort was definitely the kind of man who could bring himself to commit horrible crimes, but his words and the tone of his voice told him that this wasn't what he wanted to do – at least anymore.

"Well," he started, "I have been told that I tend to be somewhat self-righteous sometimes," he said. He meant it as the beginning of a more civil conversation, but Rochefort's frown didn't shift at all.

"I still have no reason to care. Leave me alone," the man said, sounding just as disinterested and annoyed as before.

He has a point, Morin realised. Now that he was sitting here he was no longer certain what he had thought he would achieve by stalking the man and forcing him to talk. He had never done that with men like Rochefort before, but had settled his suspicions about them by keeping an eye on them and challenging them into a duel once he was certain that they would cause trouble. That was out of question now, and he didn't think he would benefit anything from sticking around.

"Right," he said flashing a smile at Rochefort. "Since you're so obviously troubled by something in your past, I had better leave you alone to ponder it." Though he didn't mean it, the words sounded mocking even in his own ears. It was a bad habit, but he felt like he always had to have the last word in every argument.

"Whoever called you self-righteous can do better personality analyses than you," Rochefort said.

"I guess I hit a sore spot. But don't worry, I'm sure that sitting alone in the forest will make everything better," Morin said with a smile.

Rochefort jumped at his feet at that and growled at him, "What is it with you? Why do you keep bothering me when I haven't done anything to do?"

Morin realised he might have gone a little too far with his last comment, but he would be damned if he was going to admit it. He could feel himself grow annoyed at Rochefort's secluded personality and the fact that the man refused to talk with him – if they had simply had a civil conversation, all mistrust between them could have been banished already.

He got up as well and brushed dirt off his trousers. "Think of me as a travelling cavalier, if you wish to. I have vowed to make sure scoundrels don't prevail if I am present, so it is my duty to make sure you won't cause anyone any harm. Not that someone like you would understand my principles, but…"

"That's it!" Rochefort barked. "If I had a sword, I would challenge you right now and show you which of us is a better man!"

"Who says we need swords?" Morin asked. Maybe he could taunt Rochefort into getting angry enough to reveal something about himself. He knew he was being annoying and that it really wasn't his business who the man was and what he wanted, but he was curious and he was used to getting what he wanted, even if he had to drag it out of people. He curled his fists into balls and lifted them as a suggestion.

"You can't be serious. You want to quarrel like a drunken peasant?" Rochefort asked, lifting a brow in his doubt.

"Since you don't carry a sword, what choice do we have? Or do you want me to believe that cowardliness is the exact reason you refuse all challenges?" Morin replied. He didn't want to give Rochefort the chance to counter his argument with some philosophical garbage about how avoiding needless battles was the sign of a wise man, so he advanced and aimed a quick punch at the man.

Rochefort, apparently not expecting him to be serious, didn't dodge and staggered back from the hit, lifting his hand to his already abused face. He took only a second to get back into balance and glare daggers at the fox.

"You'll pay for that!"

Morin thought it was only fair if he allowed Rochefort to hit him once; it would give the fight a good and balanced start if they both delivered an attack. However, he wasn't prepared for how sharp of a blow it was and how much it hurt. Admittedly, he hadn't been punched in a while.

He stumbled back in a daze, rubbing his cheek, and heard Rochefort shout something at him. He barely had the time to make out the words, though, because the next thing he knew was that ground had suddenly disappeared from under his feet and water was surrounding him from everywhere.

This wasn't what I had in mind, he thought as the strong current of the river pulled him underwater.

* * *

Rochefort stood frozen for a split second and watched how Morin fell backwards into the river and disappeared from sight. That was the time he needed to get a hold of the situation and run to the bank. He had thought the fox could take a punch better than that, but apparently he had overestimated him.

Knowing that he shouldn't waste another moment standing in one place, he started running downstream, keeping an eye on the water in case Morin emerged suddenly. After a while, he spotted the fox some distance further downstream, trying to keep his head above the water. The river was deep, so Rochefort wasn't worried about Morin hitting any sharp stones on his way, but that also meant there was hardly anything he could grab a hold of. He tried to go faster to catch the fox, and soon enough he was running by his side.

"Hey!" he shouted, not wanting to waste his breath saying anything else. It was impossible to tell if Morin noticed him, but Rochefort could only assume he did.

He wondered if there was anything he could do. He didn't know how far the river would continue pouring this fast and where it would end, but he doubted Morin could survive to the end, wherever it was. If nothing was done, he would probably drown in the matter of several minutes. He had no rope, he couldn't jump into the river himself, and it didn't look like there was anything Morin could get a hold of.

Running alongside the fox was getting exhausting as well. Rochefort's lungs were burning and he stumbled every now and then because he was racing so fast or because his feet kept getting caught in tree roots that were sticking out from the ground. He didn't think he could keep on going for very long.

Another look at Morin told him that the fox wouldn't survive much longer either. He wasn't trying to fight the current anymore, having grown tired in its merciless grip, and the river was now throwing him back and forth between the banks, sometimes dipping him under the surface.

Blast that idiot, Rochefort thought. If the situation hadn't been so serious, he would have been more than happy to see the annoying fox get a dunking because of his own stupid actions, but he didn't want to see the other man die, especially since he was the one who had made him fall into the river in the first place.

It was then that he spotted a fallen tree that was looming over the river like a bridge. Knowing that this was his only chance, he forced the extra effort out of him and reached it several seconds before Morin did. He was just in time to stretch out his hand and grab the man's cape before the river pulled him along, but it was at that moment that he realised the flaw of his plan.

Rochefort barely had the time to yelp as he too fell into the racing waters. He had forgotten what strength the river had and that he couldn't even begin to compete with it, especially not when he didn't have a proper hold of the tree trunk.

He got a mouthful of water and almost ended up choking as some of it got into his lungs, but he quickly got a hang of when it was safe to breathe and when the river was about to pull him under the surface. Everything else, though, was a complete blur to him. Running along the riverbanks hadn't prepared him for how chaotic the current was and how little he could do about it as it pulled him along. Time seemed to go on faster and when he finally realised what exactly had happened, they had travelled a long way downstream.

At least Morin was still alive, judging by his coughing and gasps. Now that Rochefort had a hold of the man's cape, he wasn't going to let go before he had somehow found a way to drag the both of them to the shore. He tried to keep an eye on the banks to see if another opportunity presented itself, but it was impossible to make sense of anything other than the rumbling water, the ache in his lungs and the weigh of his cape trying to pull him underwater. He cursed the cloth and wondered why he hadn't thrown it away when he had been running.

However, it was exactly that annoyance that ended up saving the life of the two of them. Some moments after Rochefort had decided that they would just have to wait until the landscape turned less steep and the river stopped pouring that strongly, his cape got caught into an underwater root. He gagged at the sudden tightness around his throat and almost let go of Morin, but the other man was surprisingly alert despite having been a victim of the river for much longer.

The fox managed to use the situation to his advantage and caught a hold of the riverbank that was just to his left. He did it just in time as well because Rochefort needed both his hands to pull himself to safety before he was choked by his cape. Soon enough they were both lying on the ground, panting and gasping for breath, too tired to move a muscle.

"Huh, that… was fun," Morin finally managed. He let out a little laugh and rolled over to lie on his back, still trying to steady his breathing.

"Fun? We could have… died because of you… you idiot!" Rochefort snapped. He wanted to rise up to his feet and get as far away from this lunatic as he could, but he realised that the idea of simply lying there and resting sounded like a lot better of an option.

"Because of me? You were the one who punched me into the river, and you jumped after me on your own," Morin pointed out. He tried to laugh, but it soon turned into a cough as he had to hack up out the water that had got into his lungs.

"I didn't jump, I fell," Rochefort pointed out. He felt exhausted and would have wanted to fall asleep right there. The steady rumble of the river made it even more tempting, but he reluctantly decided that he would have to climb back up to his horse and return to the inn. He didn't want to catch a cold.

"Whatever. You still saved me, so thanks," Morin said.

"Will you now believe me when I say I'm in no way interested in this town and leave me alone?" Rochefort asked. If he had bothered to turn and look at the other man, he would have seen the fox wince slightly at his words.

"I guess I must, though I'd rather start over and put everything behind us," Morin said.

"Wouldn't we all?" Rochefort asked, finally forcing his body to get up. He dreaded the idea of climbing all the way back up to get his horse and hat. He took off his boots to pour all the water out of them and shot a glance at Morin in the process. The man was still lying on the ground, but he rolled around and got up to lean on his elbows when he noticed Rochefort was leaving.

"Hey, wait for me!" he said and stumbled up on his feet. He reached Rochefort quickly, and the Count shot a glare at him. He knew he couldn't demand Morin to go away this time because his horse was tied to the same spot as his.

After a moment of tiring climbing, Morin turned to him and said, "I hope you don't think too badly of me because of this."

Rochefort glanced briefly at the man and took a moment to go through his answer in his head. "You accuse me of being a villainous lowlife, refuse to believe anything I say, stalk me, and almost had me killed. I have enough reasons to hate you for life," he said.

"I wish you didn't," Morin said with a grin. "Two other men have saved my life before and I'm great friends with both of them. I don't want to break the pattern," he said.

"Saving people and making friends with them isn't my style," Rochefort said.

"So, how many times have you saved someone then?" Morin asked.

Rochefort thought back to how he had warned Dogtanian about the poison Richelieu and Widimer had planned for the Cadet. That had indirectly lead to their duel, his shamed honour and the current situation he now found himself in, but he couldn't say he regretted doing it. Standing back and watching another cavalier die like that would have put him into greater shame than anything that had happened to him so far.

Dogtanian had been doubtful about his intentions, but Rochefort liked to think that the two of them had reached some kind of understanding after their last meeting. They would never be friends, and he didn't even want that. Mutual respect was good enough for him.

"Only one," he replied to Morin. Apparently, his tone told the fox enough about that case because he didn't ask for details.

"Anyway, you saved my life when you could have watched me die and got rid of me that easily. I appreciate that kind of thing," Morin said.

Rochefort said nothing. It was a very similar to what had happened with Dogtanian. He could have just let fate decide, but his sense of honour would never have let him forget that.

I am so hypocritical, he realised with a sinking feeling. Again he was reminded of how he could have helped the townspeople numerous times already but hadn't. Apparently, he would save a cavalier's life because of his honour code but couldn't be bothered to help anyone else who needed him.

"You can't still be mad at me. Being in mortal danger together is a bonding experience and we should go right back to the inn and have a drink together!" Morin said.

"When I get back, I'm going straight spend the rest of the day sleeping," Rochefort replied.

"You're such a bore."

Rochefort couldn't say he liked Morin's annoying personality any more than before the ordeal with the river and he would have been happy if the man had been anywhere else at the moment, but he realised that he wasn't really angry with him anymore. Maybe he was too tired or maybe the half-truth in Morin's words no longer made him feel uncomfortable because he had realised he didn't have to stay that way.

They didn't talk much as they climbed up to where their horses were and started taking them back towards the road. Morin could have ridden his, but he decided to accompany Rochefort by foot. The Count didn't understand what the fox thought he might achieve by this as he wasn't planning to engage in any meaningful conversation, but he didn't tell Morin to leave him alone.

Though he was rarely interested in other people and their business, he found himself wondering what the fox was doing in this part of France. He carried himself like a cavalier, but he didn't look like he was a nobleman, a Musketeer or even a soldier of some sort. If it wasn't for Morin's continuous rants about the rights of the common people, Rochefort might have labelled him a bandit.

He didn't have much respect for so called defenders of justice who travelled from town to town, picking fights and claiming to protect the innocent. Such men were often criminals themselves and exploited the foolish peasants who would pay anyone to solve their problems. However, Morin didn't seem to fit that description either, so the Count was left quite puzzled. An honourable rogue? Morin would be the first he had ever heard of.

Asking the fox about it was naturally out of question, especially after he had refused to answer Morin's inquiries with such determination. And since he wasn't planning to make friends with him either, Rochefort guessed he would just have to let the matter rest and concentrate on more important matters.

By the time they arrived back at the inn, he had started thinking the road would never end. While their battle against the river hadn't lasted very long, it had been an exhausting experience, worse than any duel Rochefort could remember taking part in.

Amélie, who was taking the laundry outside and looking considerably happier than in the morning, looked at the two of them with wide eyes.

"What happened?" she asked, pointing at their clothes that hadn't yet dried completely.

"We decided to go for a little swim," Morin said with a smile and a tip of his hat. "Isn't that right, Forty?"

Rochefort muttered something even he couldn't make sense of because he had just spotted something that caught his attention. Another man on horseback had just stepped outside from the inn and was going towards the stables. He looked like he was preparing to continue his journey, whenever he was going.

"Hold my horse for a moment," Rochefort said and shoved the bridle into Morin's hands. Without offering any kind of explanation, he walked over to the stranger.

"Yes?" the man, a white and brown bulldog asked when he saw Rochefort approach.

"I take it you're about to travel somewhere. Will you be going anywhere near Paris?" Rochefort asked.

"Why, that's my destination! I live there," the man said.

It was better than Rochefort had dared to hope. "Would you be interested in delivering a message for me, for a suitable reward, of course?" he asked.

The bulldog's eyes lit up at this. "Of course!" he said. Rochefort asked him to wait for a moment so that he could get his note written, and the other man had no objections to that.

"What are you doing?" Morin asked in curiosity when Rochefort came back to take his horse.

"Something I should have done a week ago," Rochefort replied. He led his horse to the stables and had Paul take care of the animal. He himself went inside the inn and asked monsieur Gagne if he had any paper.

"Here. What are you going to do with it?" the man asked as he handed Rochefort an empty sheet, some ink and a feather.

"I'm writing a letter," Rochefort replied with an annoyed hint in his tone. He could understand everyone's curiosity, but he had no plans of telling anyone what he was writing or who he was sending it to. The last thing he wanted was more gushing attention from these country bumpkins.

He wrote a quick letter to Enguerrand's brother, summarising what was going on in the area and what it meant for the townspeople. He had always preferred swords to pens, so the end result wasn't as formal or well-composed as it probably should have been, but didn't have the time to put more effort into it.

"Do you have a candle? I need wax for the seal," he said to Gagne.

"It's that official?" the man asked with a lifted brow as he hurried to get and light one.

Rochefort slipped his hand under his shirt and pulled out a ring with the Rochefort family crest. He preferred wearing it on a string around his neck rather than on his finger because rings didn't go well with a life outdoors. It would have also revealed his identity to anyone even slightly educated, so it would have been particularly stupid to show it off to everyone.

Thankfully, Gagne didn't seem interested in it and Rochefort guessed the man thought it was a regular ring that anyone could have. That suited him just fine. He thanked the innkeeper for his help and hurried outside to meet with the bulldog again. Morin was still outside, apparently wanting to see what Rochefort was up to.

He just keeps getting nosier and nosier, Rochefort thought in irritation.

"Here," he said and handed the letter and a small handful of coins to the bulldog. "When you arrive at Paris, give this to one of the King's Musketeers. Tell him to take it to Enguerrand in the King's court."

"Certainly," the bulldog replied as he tucked the letter safely into his backpack. He climbed on his horse and took off, leaving Rochefort watch after him and wondering if what he had done would make any difference. Well, it was all he could do, so he'd just have to wait.

"You wrote to the Governor's brother?" Morin asked in befuddlement. "Why?"

"Why do you think?" Rochefort asked.

Morin blinked a few times, then his lips spread into a delighted grin. "My, my. It's not every day I find out that I was wrong and am happy about it. I'll have to buy you a drink tonight, Forty!" Then he grew more serious and lifted a brow in thought. "But what makes you think he will even read your letter?"

With that crest on it, he won't have a choice, Rochefort thought. To Morin, he said, "It was worth a try, anyway."

The fox tapped his chin. "You're right. In any case, now that we're best friends, how about we continue that conversation and really get to know each other?"

After a few more moments of the fox's babbling, Rochefort thought that maybe he should have left Morin to die after all.

**

* * *

**

That evening, many of the guests noticed a new spark in Amélie's eyes and made a note of how she laughed twice as much as usual, even to jokes that were terrible, old, or both. She was always in a happy mood when she served them, but this time there was something special about her.

Even her father noticed it, much to her delight. "Did something special happen today?" he asked as he pulled her aside during a quieter moment in the hall.

"Why? Can't I be happy without a reason?" Amélie teased. She and Ninette hadn't spoken to their father yet but had spent the entire day confiding in each other and sharing everything that was bothering them. She couldn't remember talking to anyone like that since their mother had died, and she felt like someone had banished away a shadow that had made home in her heart a long time ago.

Ninette really was like their mother in so many ways, she couldn't help noting.

His father winked at him. "I hear that young Didier stopped by again this morning," he said.

"Papa! What are you suggesting?" Amélie couldn't hold back a small laugh. She had thought their father hadn't even noticed about the two of them.

"Nothing, nothing. I know you're a good girl. But we'll talk about this later. Go on, the guests are getting thirsty," Gagne said and gave his daughter a shove to the shoulder. Amélie only smiled and hurried over to serve more drinks. It was amazing how a good talk could change things. The previous evening she would have taken her father's order as another sign of shoving all the work on her and not caring about her, but now she could see past that.

"This is your third beer this evening, monsieur Morin. Are you celebrating something?" she asked as she placed a new mug in front of him.

"My new friendship with Forty here," the fox replied cheerfully and lifted the mug to point it at Rochefort. The other man wasn't looking even nearly as enthusiastic about this as his companion, but Amélie didn't know if that impression was to be trusted. He was almost always wearing that scowl, so she had to wonder again if he was even capable of smiling. She did notice that he hadn't even finished his first drink, though.

She had to wonder what the two of them had been up to all day. No sane person would go swimming in the river, especially with their clothes on, and yet that was all that could have happened.

"What about you? Can I get you anything, monsieur Fort?" she asked.

"No, thank you," he replied. Since he actually looked up to her as he spoke, she guessed he was in a decent mood after all.

"Alright. Call for me if you change your mind." She hurried over to the kitchen to see if the stew someone had ordered was ready. On her way she glanced at her father who was entertaining guests with his stories, as usual. He was really good at that and everyone around him was always happy.

Amélie had always wished that he would pay such attention to her sometimes. She had been very lonely after her mother had died and papa had started to shove more and more responsibility on her shoulders. She felt like she had had to grow up sooner than she had wanted, and she had always been jealous of how Ninette was allowed to live the life she wanted.

But that was in the past now, she reminded herself. It was and would always be a touchy subject to her, but now that she knew that at least her sister understood her feelings, she was positive about the future. Seeing Ninette show that kind of compassion and intelligence had been a surprise for her because she had got used to thinking of her as an air-headed spoiled little brat. Amélie guessed even she had become a little blind.

She stopped to take a pondering look outside, not being able to hold back a smile as she saw the moon and the stars. Now that she knew papa had noticed Didier, she felt like her future might offer something for her after all.

Amélie returned to the hall with a smile on her face, but if she had stayed one moment longer at the window, she might have seen a figure creep from one shadow to another.

**To be continued...**


	8. Chapter 8

Dogtanian and the Three Muskehounds is copyrighted to BRB Internacional.

Warning: this chapter contains attempted rape.

**THE LOST PATH**

**Chapter 8**

Midnight had fallen over the town and one by one even the most enthusiastic night-dwelling inhabitants went to bed and blew out their candles. Complete silence took over the cobble-stone streets and alleys, and not a single soul could be seen outside. Or so the townspeople would have thought if they hadn't been fast asleep.

Laurent chuckled to himself as he pondered this idea in his head. He found it very amusing that these pathetic peasants could be snoring so happily, with no idea that this was the night that would change their lives forever and finally force them to follow the Governor's will and move. Of course, there was also plenty of chaos and panic to be observed, and that was what he was personally looking forward to.

He glanced to his side where Piers was standing, pressed against the stone wall and trying to look invisible. It was stupid, really, as there was nobody to see them, but Laurent knew his companion was the overly suspicious type who was never able to relax.

To be honest, he wasn't convinced if it had been a good idea to bring the man along, and he wasn't talking about this mission only. He and Marcel had been doing quite well together before they had accepted Piers into their group. Even then Laurent had known that their new friend didn't appreciate fun and money the way the two of them did, and it was on moments exactly like this that people like that usually showed it.

"Having seconds thoughts?" he asked as he sneered at the shorter dog.

"This is a brilliant idea, but it's too soon tonight. Fort is still here, and I hear another traveller has come to town. We should wait until they're gone," Piers whispered back.

"I've had enough of being careful. We've been harassing these people for almost half a year now. We have to get more drastic if we want something to happen," Marcel said with a tone that invited no objections.

They rushed from shadow to shadow, careful to hide in the darkness and make as little noise as possible in case some late wanderer was roaming the still streets. Marcel was ahead of the group, scouting and making sure it was safe to move on, whereas Piers was almost left behind with the package he was carrying.

"Hurry," Laurent whispered to him.

"It would be easier if you helped me," Piers replied.

"Stop bickering. We have to be quiet now," Marcel hushed as they arrived to the front yard of the inn. They quickly went around the building, careful to keep away from the stables and the horses, and let out a sigh of relief when they reached the backyard undetected. Still, the difficult part was still ahead.

"I'll climb to the roof. Hand me the rope," Marcel said to Piers. The other dog did as he was told and Marcel promptly tied the rope around his wrist. The other end was tied to the package so that he could pull it up when he was ready.

"Good luck," Laurent whispered with a grin. He could barely remain still and having to keep quiet was almost unbearably difficult for him. He was shivering, but he knew it wasn't from the cold. Waiting in anticipation had always been difficult for him, and now that they were finally doing something big, he felt like his heart would explode if something didn't happen soon.

It was too long since he had really had fun. Ever since they had started working for the Governor, life had been steady and dull. They got paid well, yes, but Laurent cared more about the thrill that came from being in control, the fear in people's yes and the screams. Especially the screams.

He rubbed his hands together as Marcel started lifting the package. Soon enough he could have all those things he desired again.

* * *

Bang, bang, bang!

Rochefort frowned in his sleep and distantly wondered where the sound was coming from. His sleepy mind decided it was just a figment of his imagination, a mere dream, and he rolled to his other side to continue sleeping.

Bang, bang, bang!

This time, the sound was accompanied by a familiar voice, "Wake up, Forty! The inn is on fire!"

These words he understood a lot better and bolted up in his bed, looking wildly around. His mind was still so foggy that it took him a moment to realise how everything was unnaturally light for the middle of the night, how there was a faint scent of smoke in the air, and hear the distant steps and sounds of people shouting at each other somewhere.

"I'm coming!" he shouted to Morin so that the man would finally stop abusing the door. As he spoke, he hopped to the floor and quickly picked up his clothes from the chair; he wasn't about to go running around half-naked, even in a situation like this. It wasn't hot, so he guessed he still had some time to spare.

"What took you so long? We have to get out of here!" Morin yelled as soon as Rochefort got the door open.

In the corridor, the smell of smoke was much stronger, though there were still no flames in sight. The fire had to be in another part of the inn.

"What's going on?" Rochefort asked as they were running outside.

"Didn't you hear? The inn is on fire!"

"I know that! How did this happen?"

Once outside, Rochefort could finally see just where the fire was. A massive crowd consisting of the townspeople, most of them still in their night garments, had gathered to watch the spectacle. Fear and wonder were frozen on their faces and the fire raging on the roof of the inn was reflected in their eyes.

The entire roof had turned into a sea of flames, hungrily devouring the wood that it was made of and reaching towards the dark sky like desperate arms. The fire was humming and cackling at them, as if trying to tell them that all attempts to put it out would be futile.

It took Rochefort only one moment to realise that the fire was no accident as it would have eaten the inn from the inside if it were. One glance at Morin and how the man was clenching his fists told him that the fox had come to the same conclusion. This had to be the work of the Governor's henchmen.

"They went too far this time," Morin growled angrily.

Rochefort tried to see around in the crowd in case he could spot Gagne or his daughters, but there were too many people, and they were finally starting to get over the first shock and move around, which made it even more difficult.

"We have to get water!" someone shouted and everyone turned to look at him. It was a man Rochefort hadn't seen before, but everyone else seemed ready to follow his orders, so he decided to go along.

"Someone get a cart so that we can get fast to the river! And we need all the buckets, kegs, and barrels we can find!" the man continued.

"There's nothing we can do about that!" someone said and pointed at the flames on the roof. The fire had only spread and would soon destroy the entire building if nothing was done. The inn was mostly made of stone, but it had enough wooden parts to fall apart if the fire wasn't stopped in time.

Luckily, there were no other buildings right next to the inn, apart from the stables, so there was no immediate danger of the fire spreading. All the horses had been saved and taken somewhere else where no harm would fall upon them.

"We have to at least try!" came another voice, and this time Rochefort recognised it. It was Gagne himself. He appeared terribly calm as he joined the self-proclaimed leader of the crowd and got everyone's attention.

"Everyone who wants to help, go collect all the containers you can find!" the other man urged. "Hurry!" he added when the crowd was still ogling at the raging fire. This finally snapped everyone from their shock and the yard was instantly filled with shouts and people running to all possible directions.

"We should go, too," Morin said. Rochefort simply nodded. The two of them felt a little out of place since they didn't know the city, but thankfully Picard spotted them quickly.

"Come with me," the blacksmith sad, "I have some dozen barrels in my smithy."

"Where's Didier?" Rochefort asked when he noticed that the young man wasn't with his master.

"That idiot went to look for Amélie because Ninette said she couldn't find her anywhere. If you ask me, she's just crying in some corner," Picard said with a shrug.

Rochefort didn't think Amélie was the type to break down in an emergency, but they had far more important things to do than argue about that. Amélie was probably safe and doing something useful to help the others. He and Morin hurried after the blacksmith towards the city centre where his smithy was, and no more words were exchanged between them.

* * *

"Let go of me!" Amélie demanded and did her best to squirm in Marcel's grip. The man was dragging her down a deserted cobble-stone alley, telling her to keep quiet whenever she dared to raise her voice. Her bare feet were hurting and freezing against the stone streets and Marcel was twisting her wrist almost painfully.

None of this, however, was anything compared to the threatening red and orange that was painted against the night sky. Amélie had stopped glancing behind her shoulder because her heart couldn't take the sight of the fire devouring the place she had called home for all her life.

She could barely understand what was going on. First she had been waken up by the panicked Ninette who had done nothing but shouted and shrieked about everything being on fine, then she had rushed outside in her nightgown, only to be grabbed by Marcel and dragged aside before she could scream for help. Now the man was taking her who knew where, and Amélie didn't even want to think about what he had to have in min. The terrible sneer on Laurent's face was enough of a clue for her.

"I don't see why you're so angry. I've finally got you away from under the paranoid eyes of your father. You can do whatever you want now," Marcel said.

"My father? Paranoid?" Amélie repeated. Ha, that was the joke of the century! "Well, in that case, I want to leave and go back help the others!"

"Why? I've seen how everyone else takes advantage of you and enjoys the fruit of your work. With me you don't have to do any work, except serve me of course, and -"

Slap!

Everyone stopped to stare at the bewildered and shocked expression on Marcel's face as he realised what had happened. Quickly, his features twisted into an angry scowl.

"What do you think you're doing?" he snarled at Amélie.

"I'm not coming with you! Haven't I been clear enough a thousand times already? I can't stand you!" she snapped. A part of her tried to remind her taunting a very dangerous man like this was playing with death and she should be quiet and not anger him any further, but she was too stubborn to submit to the will of someone she hated like that.

Laurent crossed his arms on his chest and leaned back against the wall of the house they were standing next to. "You know, Marcel, I think she has a point. It's been pretty obvious from the start that you don't stand a chance at winning her heart," he said.

"Yeah, why don't you just let her go? She's slowing us down and we have to get out of here before someone notices us," Piers chimed in.

"Shut up, both of you! Everyone is busy fighting the fire, so there's nobody to see or hear us here." Marcel snapped. With dread, Amélie realised that it also meant there was nobody to help her if the men decided to hurt her, which they probably were.

"I've been keeping an eye on you ever since I arrived to this pathetic rat hole," Marcel said, turning towards Amélie again and pressing his face close to hers. She tried to squirm away, but his hold on her wrist was too strong all she could do was fall back against the uneven stone wall. She saw no tenderness or love in his eyes, and she thought it impossible that anyone who enjoyed tormenting the townspeople would be capable of having fond feelings for anyone.

"But I love Didier," she heard herself whisper. Even before Marcel's face was consumed by hatred, she knew it was a very stupid thing to say.

"You ungrateful wench! What does he have that I don't?" the man barked and smacked her. Amélie let out a pained yelp and fell on her knees, burying her face into her hands. She didn't dare to glance up to Marcel or answer his question; all her determination was directed at holding back her tears of fear. She wouldn't cry in front of him no matter what!

"Come on, let's get out of here," Piers urged once more, but this time he didn't even get a glance as a reply.

"Nobody rejects me, especially after I've waited so long to get them!" Marcel snapped. He grabbed the front of Amélie's gown and pulled her violently up to her feet. She barely had the time to yelp before she was hit against the wall and Marcel's bent closer to whisper into her ear, "If you think it was your heart I wanted the most, you're very mistaken, my dear."

Amélie mind went blank with fear when she realised what Marcel was about to do.

"Marcel, you aren't really going to -?" Piers asked, a hint of an unidentifiable feeling in his voice. Amélie couldn't say if it was disgust or just simple surprise, but she turned her begging eyes to the short man.

"Please, you can't let him do this to me!" she pleaded.

"Be reasonable! We have to go now if we want to make it before somebody notices us," Piers said, reluctant to address the issue at hand. His right hand was resting on the handle of his sword, a fact that wasn't missed by any of the other three dogs.

Laurent let out a mocking laughter. "You aren't planning to be a knight in the shining armour and save the lady, are you, Piers?" he asked. "Oh, boy. And I was thinking you were so boring."

"I think this has now crossed the limit of good taste. I have no trouble filling the Governor's orders, but this is something I won't have a part of," Piers declared.

"Then leave. I'm not making you watch," Marcel pointed out.

Piers's reply was unsheathing his sword and pointing it at his comrade. "Get away from her," he ordered, though his voice wasn't entirely devoid of a nervous edge. He took a step forward and said Marcel was in for a duel if he didn't leave the woman alone that instant.

Amélie noticed Laurent's movement and tried to shout a warning to Piers, but it was too late. The black dog punched his companion to the face and then smashed his head against the wall. Piers didn't even have the time to fight back, and he stumbled to the ground in an unconscious heap of limps. His sword fell to the ground with a useless clang.

"Such a pity. I was starting to think we had trained him into our ways," Laurent said with a shake of his head. He gave Piers one kick to the ribs, as if to dot the final I.

"And where were we?" Marcel asked as he turned back to Amélie with a cruel smirk.

* * *

"These won't be enough," Picard said once they reached his smithy and counted the barrels. Some of them had too many holes to hold any water and a few others were so heavy that they would be impossible to lift once they were filled with liquid.

"They're better than nothing," Morin said as he and Rochefort started loading the blacksmith's wagon with the barrels.

Picard tapped his chin in thought. "I think my brother may have some in his warehouse down that street. You're faster than me, so one of you could go and check," he said.

"I'll do it," Rochefort said, starting towards the dark alley Picard had pointed at. Fire fighting wasn't something he had much experience with, so for once he didn't have a problem with taking orders from someone he didn't consider to be up in his league. The situation at hand was much too serious for him to let his pride lead him.

He glanced briefly at the night sky lit by the flames as he ran, but didn't stop for a moment. He stumbled on the cobble-stones and almost fell over but managed to grab a hold of a low windowsill just in time. He was about to continue on his way, but then a distant scream from another ally reached his ears.

At first he didn't recognise the voice, but when it was heard again, he realised that it had to be Amélie. Not that it mattered because he had already chosen another alley and was on his way closer to it.

What could Amélie be doing here, he wondered. She should have been calming down her sister and letting the men to deal with the fire, not running around the town and making everyone worried.

Then he heard another voice that made him stop on his heels. Marcel was saying something a low voice and Rochefort couldn't make out the words, but the man's tone and Amélie's earlier screams told him enough. He hurried closer, trying to run as quickly and quietly as he possibly could.

When he was just about to reach them he stopped again and glanced at the scene from behind a corner, his instincts reminding him that only a fool rushed into a battle not knowing what was waiting for them.

Marcel was pressing Amélie against the wall and though she did fight back, she was no match for the taller and stronger dog. Rochefort had to give her the credit for that and that she wasn't crying but rather trying to make as much noise as possible in order to attract attention.

"Can't you do anything to shut her up?" Laurent asked. "That voice grates on my nerves."

"I thought you liked it when they scream," Marcel pointed out. He threw Amélie to the ground, gaining a yelp from her. She tried to get away, but Marcel was on top of her in a second and didn't mind her kicking legs and scratching hands the slightest.

That disgusting pig, Rochefort thought before he stepped from behind the corner. He wasn't going to watch this kind of shameful display one moment longer.

"Get your hands off her at once!" he snarled.

Marcel turned his attention away from trying to rip Amélie's gown open. "You again!" snapped.

"I guess poor Piers had a point," Laurent said with a shrug and it was only then that Rochefort noticed the unconscious man on the ground.

"I'm not going to repeat myself after this, so let her go right now," he said. He could almost feel himself shaking in contempt at these men and their utter lack of any honour. Even Widimer, who by all means lacked most desired qualities in men, was above these mutts and would have never even thought about dishonouring any woman like that.

He barely glanced at Amélie at this point, knowing that he had to be prepared for everything Laurent and Marcel could come up with, but he did saw how she was frozen in mid-movement and was staring right at him with eyes wide and pleading for help.

"And why should we? There's nothing you can do, so we're just going to kill you like we should have done already and then continue where we left," Laurent said. As he spoke, he unsheathed his sword and pointed it tauntingly at Rochefort.

"Or what do you say if we let you join in and have a piece? Eh, accountant?" the black dog snickered.

Rochefort saw his field of vision darken and before he even knew what he was doing, he had picked up Piers's fallen sword and was pointing it directly at Laurent.

"Get back," he growled, but his focus wasn't in the words. He felt hot all of a sudden, and his entire body tingled with the realization that he was holding a sword again. He didn't think about his broken vow, his honour, or what he would do after this; all he felt was the familiar weight of the blade in his hand and the thrilling rush of emotion that always preceded a difficult battle. Now it was mixed with rage and determination that he hadn't felt even before duelling with Dogtanian.

"Ooh, nice. Do you even know how to use it?" Laurent asked.

Had there been less at stake and if it had been his style, Rochefort might have smirked. Now, however, he only said, "You'll soon find out, mongrel."

Laurent advanced, expecting an easy victory, but Rochefort easily turned the attack to the side with his sword. He assaulted quickly, wanting to use the element of surprise to end the fight fast. Laurent had to retreat, but it took him only a moment to regain his composure and respond to the slashes.

Rochefort had seen many kinds of swordsmen in his life. Most of them ranged from good to mediocre, but occasionally he met incompetent fools like Widimer and extremely talented fighters like Dogtanian. It took him only a few more exchanges with swords to determine that Laurent belonged to the first group; he wasn't spectacularly good or bad. He estimated it might take him only a little while longer before he defeated the man.

Throughout their previous battle in the forest, Laurent had taunted and mocked him, but now he had to concentrate on the duel and didn't have the time to blabber. His face was strained into a grimace as he tried to find an opening for an attack, but instead he was forced to retreat step by step until he had his back pressed against the wall.

Rochefort didn't like that position because it exposed him to an attack from Marcel, who had been watching the fight intensely, Amélie almost forgotten. It was only when the woman tried to squirm away from under him that he remembered and he held her back down.

Deciding that he had had enough of practise for now, Rochefort advanced once more and stabbed Laurent to the side. Real duels usually lasted until the death of either participant, but the Count didn't think Laurent was worthy of such an honourable death, and he also wanted the man to stay alive to pay for everything he had done.

"Argh, you -!" Laurent cursed as he dropped his sword and pressed his hand to his wound. He doubled over and fell down to his knees with a hiss of pain, not removing his eyes from Rochefort for one moment.

"Curse you!" Laurent spat. "How did you do that?"

Instead of replying, Rochefort turned to face Marcel. "Don't make this any more difficult. Get away and have your friend taken care of before he bleeds to death," he said.

"Hah! You're mistaken if you think defeating Laurent will impress me!" Marcel said. Slowly, he rose to his feet and unsheathed his sword. This finally gave Amélie the chance to get away from him, and she got up to her feet and stumbled away from him, legs shaking.

"You know where Picard's smithy is, don't you?" Rochefort asked her as she passed him. When she nodded, he continued, "Go there and ask him to take you to your father. If he's not there, lock the door and wait for me."

Amélie muttered something he couldn't understand and disappeared to the darkness.

"Thanks. Now I'm going to have to hunt her down when I've killed you," Marcel complained.

Rochefort didn't waste time coming up with a witty retort but assaulted the grey dog with a swift slash. He kept his distance and didn't strike with full force because he wanted to see what kind of swordsman Marcel was. It would have been foolish to expose himself to an attack in case the man was better than Laurent. He didn't want to give their encounter in the forest too much weight because this time he had a sword as well, and that turned everything around in his opinion.

His opponent brought up his blade to dodge Rochefort's attack and countered it with his own. The quickness and force of the assault threw the Count off guard for a minute, as he hadn't expected Marcel to be able to respond that fast. However, his moment of confusion didn't last long enough for either of them to even blink, so he had no trouble avoiding being hit.

The dark alley wasn't the best place to have a duel. There wasn't much room for the to be creative and they could mostly move either back or forwards, depending on which one of them was having the upper hand at the moment. Piers's unconscious form and the moaning Laurent on the ground also made it difficult, and Rochefort didn't like getting closer to either. They were a distraction and could easily attack him by surprise in the middle of the thrill of the battle.

Blade clashed against blade as he turned away yet another attack from Marcel. The man was better than Rochefort had expected and much to his surprise, he found that he was actually enjoying himself. He had missed handling a sword and the excitement of fighting against a good opponent. Marcel was naturally not in Dogtanian's league and wasn't even half as honourable as the lad, but he was better than most. And, though this was something Rochefort would only admit to himself, it was satisfying to fight on the righteous side for a change.

It became obvious that bringing a quick end to the battle was not an option. He was a little rusty after not handling a sword for weeks, and while he did consider himself better than Marcel, the man was still good enough to stand a chance against him. Everything was possible in the dark, so it was dangerous to get too bold and attempt and attack that would leave him defenceless.

"Hurry up and kill him! I'm getting a little dizzy here!" Laurent commented from the side. Marcel didn't even glance at his friend and only grunted as a response, barely avoiding a slash from Rochefort's sword.

It was then that Marcel slipped and fell on his back to the ground. Rochefort instantly tried to use this to his advantage and deliver a stab, but his opponent brought up his sword just in time and rolled away before the Count could have another try. Marcel staggered back up some distance away and retreated as Rochefort attacked again.

He's leading the battle somewhere else, he realised. He had no objections to that as he preferred a setting with more room, and this would get them away from Laurent and Piers. He wondered briefly what had happened to the latter man, but he quickly pushed these distracting thoughts away and concentrated on the fight again.

Soon enough their battle had moved to a small opening with a well in the middle. Marcel delivered a slash and dodging it momentarily pushed Rochefort off balance. Instead of using this to assault again, Marcel ran to the other side of the well where he could stop to catch a breath without having to worry about Rochefort reaching him.

"Not bad," he said between breaths. "I guess you aren't an accountant, then?"

"That's hardly important," Rochefort said. He wasn't very out of breath, so he didn't gain anything from their short pause.

Marcel let out a short laugh. "You know, I like your style. It gets tiring being around Laurent all the time, so I can appreciate someone who doesn't take nonsense. Why are you fighting me? We would make a good team," he said.

Rochefort guessed Marcel was right in a way. The two of them were good with swords and though he didn't like admitting it, he had committed many actions similar to what Marcel was doing for the Governor, maybe even worse. He knew he had it in him to blind himself to the suffering of others and convince himself that whatever he was doing was right and justifiable, though it would be considerably difficult now than in the past. The blazing fire in Dogtanian's eyes was something he would never be able to forget.

"I don't associate myself with filth like you," he remarked. Bringing a woman to shame like Marcel had attempted was something he would have never done, even if Richelieu himself had asked him to do it. This thought gave him some comfort and reminded him that there was a difference between him and Marcel, and he could choose to make it even bigger.

Marcel grimaced. "I can't say I didn't expect that," he said.

"Have you had enough, or shall we continue? Or would you prefer hiding there instead?" Rochefort asked, nodding at the well. The hole had been covered with a wooden lid, so at least there was no danger of either of them falling into it.

His opponent's answer was circling around the well and resuming their battle. Now that he had had the chance to rest a little, Marcel charged with strength. Rochefort also noted that the man's movements were different; he kept his distance and no longer made bold attack. The Count realised that Marcel had used their pause to come up with a new strategy for beating him.

Not that it mattered. He rapidly changed his own style to match Marcel's and tried to stab the man, but his blade was pushed away again.

The fire raging at the inn, or what was left of it, had died somewhat and the nightly sky no longer looked like a frustrated painter had smudged it with orange and red. Rochefort hoped Morin and Picard had grown tired of waiting for him and had joined the others in fighting the fire.

Marcel and his friends probably started the fire, he thought. It was just their style and it would damage the townspeople's spirits considerably. Without a place where to gather and talk about their problems, they would have much less enthusiasm to fight against the Governor's terror.

He woke from his thoughts with a flinch when he felt sharp pain in his arm and realised that Marcel had managed to slice him. It wasn't serious; barely a cut, but it angered him nevertheless. Few men had ever been able to touch him in a duel, and even now it had happened only because he had been careless.

He growled as he assaulted Marcel again, but he didn't let his anger control his actions.

Their battle went on for a few more moments with neither of them gaining the upper hand. Rochefort forced Marcel to retreat against the well, wanting to trap him into one spot in order to end the fight quicker.

Marcel seemed to realise his intention as well because he jumped backwards and landed on the lid on the well. He tried to leap right back down on the other side, but Rochefort had just the time to stab him into his calf, making Marcel stumble and almost lose his balance when he landed.

Neither of them said anything. They both knew that a leg injury would slow Marcel down considerably and that he would have to bring the battle to a quick victorious end or surrender if he wanted to live.

They circled each other for a moment, but this time it worked in Rochefort's advantage. The longer the battle went on, the better for him.

"I will offer you the chance to leave," he said.

"Hah!" Marcel snorted, but his voice lacked his earlier confidence. His face was twisted in a pained grimace and he limped a little with every step; not much but enough to make footwork a trouble for him.

"As you wish, then," Rochefort said. Just like with Laurent, he had no plans of killing Marcel. If the fool wanted to have a worse injury before he got the hint, that wasn't his problem.

Marcel, evidently tired of prolonging the fight one moment longer, circled around the well and charged at Rochefort with all the strength and swiftness he had left. Even with a wounded leg, he could offer the Count a challenge and it took Rochefort a blink before he could respond to the assault. He attacked Marcel's left side, forcing the man to put more weight on his injured leg. The signs of strain grew more and more obvious on Marcel's face until he fell back with a snarl and a series of curses.

The tip of Rochefort's sword was instantly at his opponent's throat and Marcel froze as he felt the blade cut into his skin.

"How about now?" Rochefort asked.

"Why would you let me go? Don't you have the guts to kill someone?" Marcel asked, but his smirk vanished as soon as Rochefort pressed the blade a bit further.

"Someone like you doesn't deserve to die in a duel between cavaliers, though you're hardly one," the Count said.

Marcel looked like he had something more to say, but he wisely decided to swallow it and get on his feet instead. He hissed in pain when he stepped on his wounded leg and pressed his hand against it.

"I'm going to get you for this!" he snapped as he limped away. He stopped to glare back at Rochefort once more before he disappeared into the shadows.

The thrill was suddenly gone as soon as it had washed over him and Rochefort had to sit down on the edge of the well. He distantly realised that he should have hurried to see if there was anything he could do to help at saving the inn, but he found he lacked the will to do that.

He was still holding Piers's sword. It felt heavy all of a sudden and he wondered how he had been able to handle it that well in battle.

I broke my vow, he thought. He knew that it was all he could have done and that refusing to do that would have left him dead and Amélie even worse off, but that did nothing to fill the empty feeling that had taken over his mind. All he could think about was the sword in his hand and what he would do next. Would he just go on pretending that he had never picked up a sword, or should he admit his failure to someone? To Dogtanian? What difference would it make?

With a sudden burst of anger, he stood up and stabbed the wooden lid of the well with the sword, leaving it standing there. It felt like poison; he wouldn't touch it again.

"Monsieur Fort!"

Rochefort turned around when he heard Amélie's voice call him and then took a surprised step back when the woman threw herself against him.

"What are you doing here? I told you to get away!" he said.

"I couldn't find anyone at the smithy, and then I had to come back for you. I just couldn't leave them to kill you," the woman said. Rochefort was about to tell her what a stupid and reckless fool she was, but it was then that he realised that she was crying.

"Why are you crying now? It's over," he said in confusion. He pushed the woman away, not feeling comfortable having her cling onto him.

Amélie backed away, wiping her eyes with an embarrassed smile on her face. "It's silly, isn't it?" she asked.

"We had better find your father. Everyone must be worried about you," Rochefort said. He started walking to the alley where they had come from, hoping that he remembered the way back to the smithy.

Amélie hesitated for a moment before following him. "What about the sword? Aren't you going to take it?" she asked.

"No," Rochefort said.

"Why not?"

Rochefort offered her no reply, and she didn't ask again.

When they arrived to the smithy, Picard and Morin had returned there, along with Didier. All of them were covered in soot and they looked exhausted, sad, and angry at the same time.

"Where the hell have you been?" Morin demanded as soon as he noticed Rochefort arrive.

Neither of the newcomers couldn't even begin to answer before Didier had run over to Amélie and buried her into his arms. Morin and Picard shot questioning glares at Rochefort, and since it looked like Amélie wouldn't have the chance to explain anything in a while, he guessed he would have to do the talking.

"I found her with Marcel's gang when I went to look for the barrels. I don't know how they got her, but it took a while to drive them away," he said.

"Monsieur Fort was really brave! He duelled with both Laurent and Marcel and won! I don't even want to think about what they would have done to me if monsieur Fort hadn't come to help," Amélie piped up once she managed to catch her breath after Didier's hug.

"He did?" both Morin and Picard asked at the same time. They even lifted a curious brow at the Count.

"It was nothing. They were easy to defeat because it was dark," Rochefort said. He shot a warning glare at Amélie when it looked like she wanted to argue about that, and she remained silent. Rochefort didn't want to explain his sudden skill with the sword to anyone, nor did he want to answer their questions about why he had kept it a secret.

"I'm just glad you're alright. Your father has been insane with worry. He thought you might have been stuck inside the inn," Didier said to Amélie.

"The inn! What happened to it? Did you stop the fire?" she asked, having forgotten all about it in the middle of her fright and shock.

The sad look on everyone's face and how they glanced at each other, trying to shove the burden of telling the truth to anyone but themselves told Rochefort the answer before anyone said anything. It was finally Picard who said exactly what the Count had been expecting.

"I'm sorry, Amélie, but it's going to be completely destroyed. There is nothing we could do," the old blacksmith said.

Amélie's hands flew to her mouth and her eyes widened with shock. "No! It can't be!" she breathed. For a moment she looked like she might want to bury her face against Didier's chest, but she found some new strength in her and backed away from her love.

"I have to find my father," she said in determination. They all agreed that they should go back to the remains of the inn and see if there was anything they could do. All the guests would need new places to sleep at, and Rochefort wanted to see what had happened to his horse. It would be such irony to lose it in the fire when its leg was almost healed and he could continue his journey.

They rode in Picard's cart to where the inn had once stood. Technically it was still there, but there was nothing to be done. Black stone walls stood there like a few remaining rotten teeth, and whatever was left of the roof and other wooden parts were still happily aflame, but nobody was trying to save them anymore. It would have been a wasted effort.

It took Rochefort a moment to recognise Gagne because the man's fur had turned almost black from ash. He was sitting near the still standing stables with Ninette by his side. A few sympathetic neighbours, friends, and family members were lingering around, but most people had returned to their homes, having realised that there was nothing they could do to help.

Hearing the sound of an approaching cart, Gagne and Ninette lifted their heads. "Amélie!" they both shouted in surprise and darted up their feet, running to greet the group.

"Where have you been?" Ninette asked.

The situation and the events were explained so that everyone knew what had been going on all night. Rochefort learned that the townspeople had done their best at saving the inn, but it had been impossible to stop the fire, so they had been forced to give up and let the flames devour the entire building. Gagne and Ninette had been offered a place at Jean's place, but they had decided to stay behind in case Amélie appeared.

Needless to say, Gagne was tremendously thankful when he heard how Rochefort had saved his daughter. The Count thought he would never hear the conclusion of the grateful rant the man forced him to hear, but finally it ended.

"I would offer you a free room for the rest of your life, but as you can see…" the man said, pointing to the former inn with a sad smile.

"What are we going to do now, papa?" Ninette asked with a hint of fear in her voice. Her entire life had suddenly been turned upside down and had lost all safety and certainness.

"Don't worry. We're going to live with Uncle Jean for a moment, and we'll think of something," Gagne said and patted his youngest daughter on the head. He turned to Amélie and said, "Take Ninette to Jean and go to sleep, both of you. I'll be there a little later."

"Alright, papa," Amélie agreed and led her sister away from the destroyed yard.

Once they were gone, Gagne finally dared to let out a long sigh. He rubbed his face with his hand, managing to smudge it even further with his dirty hands.

"I don't know what I'm going to do," he admitted. "Everything is gone. I have no savings and I can't afford to rebuild the inn. If it was just me, I wouldn't mind, but I want to offer my daughters a better life."

"We're all going to be there for you," Picard promised.

"That's right," Didier added.

"You're a good lad," Gagne said, offering Didier a smile that made the man smile just a little. At least Amélie's future would be secure.

Rochefort looked at the burning inn, thoughts running through his mind. Now that there was no inn in the town, he would have to move on and continue on his random journey to nowhere a little earlier than he had planned. He couldn't say that he minded because he had started to get bored with the quiet life in the countryside, but the idea also filled him with discomfort. It was like he was running away from something that wasn't finished yet.

He glanced at Gagne, Picard, and Didier who were busy talking about the damage and what everyone could do to help the innkeeper and his family. Rochefort wasn't interested in what they were saying because he knew that whatever the townspeople did, it wouldn't do any good in the end. The Governor still had plenty of time to make their life difficult before Rochefort's note reached Paris – if it ever did. For all he knew, the entire town could be burned to ground by the time Enguerrand's brother arrived.

The Count felt angry and helpless all of a sudden. It was a rare occasion when there was nothing he could do, and since he was used to things going his way, it irritated him more than anything else. If there was one thing he wanted after the night's events, it was to see defeat on the faces of the Governor and his men.

With an outburst of feeling, he turned to Gagne and blurted out, "I will pay for the damage."

Even he was shocked at his words, so it was no surprise that the four other men stared at him with wide eyes and open jaws. Rochefort wondered if he would have to repeat himself to get some other reaction out of them.

"But… but you can't have that kind of money!" Gagne finally said.

"And even if you did, why would you make such a generous offer?" Picard asked.

"I have connections," Rochefort said. He felt like grimacing when he realised that he would have to write to his sister and ask her to send his squire over with the money. She wouldn't be happy to hear from him in these circumstances.

"You aren't going to ask your master for the money, are you? I'm not going to see someone else be indebted because of me," Gagne said firmly.

"It's not going to be a problem," Rochefort insisted.

"Nonsense! I don't need charity," Gagne said, and Rochefort wished he had just kept his mouth shut and dumped the money on the man's doorstep while he wasn't looking.

"We'll talk about it later," he decided. Gagne, also feeling tired after the night's events, raised his hands in an agreeing gesture. They made quick plans about where Rochefort and Morin would spend the rest of the night and Picard offered to take them both in for the time being.

As they were walking to the blacksmith's small house, Morin leaned closer to Rochefort and whispered, "You were joking about the money, right?"

Rochefort shot a glare at him. "Do you think I have such a terrible sense of humour?" he asked.

The fox scratched his skin. "No, but I don't see where you could get that much money, apart from robbing someone. And that's not funny either," he said.

"I know what I'm doing, so you can stop worrying about me making empty promises and giving Gagne false hope," Rochefort said sharply.

"Eh, I'm not that obvious, am I?" Morin asked with a sheepish grin.

* * *

Though he was tired, Rochefort didn't sleep late the next morning. The small corner where he and Morin were spending the night was by far the worst setting where he had ever slept, and he preferred being tired to spending another moment in such a cramped and dusty place.

He took a deep breath when he made it outside. The sun hadn't dawned yet, so it was still a little dim and misty, and Rochefort shivered a little from the coolness in the air. Autumn had never been his favourite season.

Now that he had had some time to think it over, he wasn't sure if the promise he had made the previous night had been such a wise thing to do after all. Rebuilding the inn would cost much, and though the Rocheforts had money, spending that much at once was bordering on idiotic. If his sister ever found out just what he had done with the money, she would kill him. He knew he had better come up with a very good excuse.

There was also something else that he had decided before falling asleep. He would have to pay the Governor another visit as he had the feeling that last night's events might lead to something even bigger if something wasn't done about that. Rochefort didn't like the idea of blowing his cover, but if the only way to bring some peace into the town was to use his title as a weapon, so be it.

He heard the door creek behind him and guessed that Morin had woken up as well. Rochefort didn't turn around to face the man but waited for him to speak if he had something in mind.

"You look awfully determined. Don't you think you've done enough adventuring for a while?" Morin asked as he adjusted his hat on his head.

"I'm going to see the Governor and then I'm done," Rochefort replied.

"The Governor?" Morin repeated and circled around the Count to take a curious look at his face. "Why do you want to see him?"

Rochefort couldn't say he had learnt to like Morin very much during the short time they had spent together, but at least the man had stopped being an annoying pest, at least for most of the time. Despite this, he didn't feel like he could or wanted to confide in the man and share his plans with him.

"I'm going to talk to him about what's going on here," he said, knowing that he had to say something. However, that was as much as he was ready to reveal.

Morin threw back his head and let out a laugh. "Oh, that's a great idea. What makes you think his men won't kill you before you take two steps past the gates?" he asked.

Rochefort again chose the option of remaining silent, which made Morin shut up as well. The fox looked at him for a moment with a thoughtful frown on his face.

"There's something you aren't telling me," he said, and immediately lifted his hands with palms up when he noticed Rochefort's annoyed expression. "Don't worry, I'm not going to ask you what it is."

Rochefort nodded and said that he was going to check up on his horse which Picard had brought to his own stable. Thankfully, Morin didn't follow him so he could finally be alone with his thoughts for a moment.

He felt like his time in the town was about to come to an end, though he couldn't determine why this was so. By all logic, he would spend a much longer time there if he was going to wait for his squire to bring the money. Maybe it was because if he really went to see the Governor, something would certainly end, either his life (which he doubted) or the terror against the townspeople.

When he had first come to the town, he had never expected he'd end up spending such a long time there or getting personally involved in the townspeople's matters. He couldn't say either was something he had enjoyed very much, but he knew he wouldn't have done anything differently if given the chance. Sticking around and helping felt like a responsibility, even.

His horse seemed happy to see him, probably because it had had to go through so much stress the previous night. Rochefort gave the animal a pat to the neck and knelt by its side to take a look at the leg. It looked alright as far as he was concerned, and he decided to ride to the Governor's mansion and test how much exercise the horse could take.

A few hours later he felt like it was the appropriate time to see the Governor, so he saddled up his horse and brought it outside. He couldn't say he was surprised when he noticed that Morin was waiting for him on horseback, but he still wasn't happy about it.

"You aren't coming with me," he announced.

"Oh, yes I am. I'm very curious to see what happens and I think you need me," the fox replied.

"I thought you said you would leave me alone," Rochefort said.

"I only said I wouldn't ask about your secret. You can go and talk to the Governor alone if you want, but I'm coming along to make sure his men don't kill you before you get inside," Morin said.

"That's not necessary," Rochefort said as he rose to the saddle.

Morin grinned at him. "I know, but I want a chance to show off my swordsmanship. I'll be damned if I let you be the only hero around here. And that reminds me…" He reached for something that was hanging on his belt on the side that Rochefort couldn't see and pulled out a sword. It was the same one Rochefort had handled the previous night and he couldn't help glaring at it.

"What are you doing with that?" he asked.

"Don't sound like I just pulled out something nasty. Amélie told me how good you were with a sword, so I thought it would be a shame if you didn't carry one. I think you deserve to keep this one," Morin said.

Rochefort turned his eyes from the sword to the fox. "I've told you I don't handle swords," he said. He gave his horse a tap with his heels and guided it to the right street. Morin followed and was quickly by his side.

"I take it that you don't like swords. That's funny for someone who is so good with them," he said.

"If you want to come with me, keep your mouth shut," Rochefort snapped. He couldn't understand why Morin simply wouldn't leave him alone. The man had no right to stick his nose into his personal business.

"Hmph. I don't understand why you have to be so difficult. It's obvious that you're not a novice with a sword," Morin muttered but dropped the subject. He put Piers's sword back into the extra sheath he was carrying.

The rest of the journey took place in complete silence between them. Rochefort was not interested in talking Morin who had reverted back into his annoying self right when the Count had started to think he could tolerate the man, and Morin, seemingly insulted at being denied the information he wanted, withdrew into sulking.

By the time they arrived to the gates of the Governor's mansion, it was already noon. A lone soldier was guarding the gates and pointed his spear at them when they arrived.

"What do you want?" the man asked.

"I'm here to meet Governor Enguerrand," Rochefort announced.

"The Governor doesn't want to see anyone today," the soldier said, but he lowered his spear, thinking that anyone who wanted a meeting couldn't be an enemy.

"I'm sure he will make an exception for me," Rochefort said.

The soldier seemed undecided. "But I have my orders…" he started.

"Let us through, you incompetent idiot!" Rochefort's patience, which admittedly wasn't one of his best qualities, was at its end and the last thing he needed was dealing with stupid soldiers who couldn't think for themselves.

Morin shot him a dark glare. "He's just doing his job," he said. Then he turned to the soldier and suggested, "We have something important to tell to the Governor. If he is upset with you, tell that we charged through with force."

The soldier considered that for a moment and nodded. He still didn't look happy about disobeying orders, but he had enough sense to understand that these visitors wouldn't leave until they got what they wanted.

"You shouldn't try to reason with soldiers. Orders are all that they understand," Rochefort said to Morin.

"And yet you shouted at him for following one given by his superior?" the fox asked as he got down from his horse.

"Stay here while I talk with the Governor," Rochefort said, ignoring what Morin had just said.

"As you wish, but I don't see what good any of this will do," Morin replied with a careless shrug. He watched how Rochefort entered the mansion and turned around to take a look at the yard.

Apart from the soldier at the gate, Morin didn't see anyone around. He tried to measure how many soldiers the Governor might have in his service and what kind of tasks were required of them. Since terrorising the townspeople seemed to be mostly Marcel and his friends' responsibility, the soldiers probably didn't have to take part in that dishonourable business. At least that was what he hoped.

A man appeared from the smaller side buildings and froze when he noticed Morin and the two horses. After a moment of hesitation, the man approached him with an uncertain frown on his face.

"You're from the town, aren't you?" he asked.

Morin tried to remember if he had ever seen this man before, but his mind was blank. The stranger was relatively short, had brown slightly curly fur and his breed seemed to be some sort of dachshund. A bandage was wrapped around his head, but he seemed otherwise alright, so Morin deducted that he was neither Marcel nor Laurent. He was probably Piers.

"Yes. I'm Emile Morin and I'm here to see the Governor with monsieur Fort," he said.

"Ah," was all the other dog said. He glanced at the door through which Rochefort had entered and pondered something for a moment. "What do you think your friend will tell him?" he asked.

"I wish I knew," Morin said warily. Piers was a man who had taken part in terrorising the townspeople and helped burn down the inn, so all he could feel for him was contempt and anger. The idea of challenging the man into a duel was very challenging, but Morin first wanted to see what kind of results Rochefort's talk with the Governor would have.

He wondered what Piers wanted of him. The man didn't seem hostile and hadn't made a single threatening move, but Morin wasn't fooled into thinking that the dachshund was only interested in random chit chat. There had to be an ulterior motive.

"So, did you have fun burning down the inn and destroying the life of a family?" he asked.

"That wasn't my idea," Piers said.

"It doesn't matter if you still went through with it," Morin said.

Piers shrugged like it didn't really matter to him. "I guess," he said. He didn't sound like he was sorry at all, which further confirmed Morin's opinion of him. He had got the idea that Piers was the least disgusting of the group, so he had to wonder what kind of monsters Marcel and Laurent were.

"In case it matters, I've stopped working for the Governor," Piers said after a while.

"Really? Why?" Morin asked.

"This whole operation is doomed to fail, and I'm getting out while I still have the chance. I doubt my companions are going to be very happy with me after last night," Piers said. As he spoke, he nodded back at the building where he had come from.

Morin had met Amélie that morning and she had told him of how Piers had tried to help her. It was an honourable action, but it didn't mean anyone should cover their eyes from the man's other crimes. Well, the fox supposed he didn't care as long as Piers got away from the townspeople.

"And you're telling this to me because…?" he asked. He hadn't even met the man before this, so he was uncertain why Piers felt the need to share anything with him.

"I just want to make it clear that you have no reason to fight against me anymore," Piers said.

"Don't you think your past crimes are enough of a reason already?" Morin asked. This man had set an inn on fire just the previous night, and now he had the guts to act like he was completely off the hook?

Piers snorted. "You have no proof that I've done anything. If you want to punish someone, pick Marcel or Laurent." He turned to walk away, but after a few steps he glanced back and said, "Anyway, you should know that I have nothing against you, and I'm not planning to have revenge on anything. Just leave me alone."

For a moment, Morin was tempted to punch the man, but he knew it wouldn't have been a wise thing to do on the enemy's territory. With a frustrated sigh, he continued waiting for Rochefort.

* * *

Rochefort didn't encounter anyone on his way to the Governor's study and for a moment he thought the entire mansion was empty. He wondered if Enguerrand was in a mood bad enough to drive all his servants into hiding from the fear of angering the man even further. He could understand that since the Governor was an intimidating sight, even when he was perfectly calm.

He knocked on the door to the study and received an immediate response.

"Wasn't I clear enough? If you three don't want any worse injuries, stay out of my sight!" Enguerrand's voice barked.

Puzzled, Rochefort stopped to think for a moment. Had something gone wrong the previous night? Marcel and his friends had successfully burnt the inn to the ground, so shouldn't Enguerrand have been pleased with them? Well, it wasn't his problem so he pushed the door open and stepped inside.

It would have been an understatement to say that Enguerrand looked surprised to see who his guest was. His eyes bulged and his mouth hung slightly open for a short while before he got a hold of himself again.

"You! You have a lot of nerve to show your face here," he growled, putting aside the letter he had been writing.

Rochefort was again reminded of his meetings with Richelieu, particularly after an embarrassing defeat in the hands of the Musketeers. Now, however, he had no reason to be ashamed of anything so he faced the Governor with a proudly lifted head.

"I have come to talk about the town," he announced.

Enguerrand snorted. "I take it it's about the fire, isn't it?" he asked. Before Rochefort could say anything, the man continued, "Yes, I've already heard of it. Such a sad event, but these accidents happen sometimes."

"It was hardly an accident. Your men set the fire," Rochefort said. He watched Enguerrand's reaction and pleased to notice that a scowl appeared on the man's face for a moment. The Count guessed that Marcel and his friends had acted without Enguerrand's knowledge, or at least altered the plan a bit too much.

"You're very bold to march into my study with accusations that you cannot prove," Enguerrand said.

"Maybe I don't have any proof about the fire, but I was there just in time to stop your men from shaming a woman. That alone should be enough of a reason to do something about them," Rochefort said. He wasn't expecting the Governor to admit his men's guilt, but he had to at least try before moving on to harsher methods.

Enguerrand crossed his hands on his desk and leaned slightly forward. "What are you trying to achieve with this, monsieur Fort?" he asked with a low voice.

"I want you to stop tormenting the townspeople and let them live where they're now, or at least provide them with good land if they agree to move," Rochefort said.

When Enguerrand didn't say anything for a while, Rochefort thought the man was simply too surprised to reply, but then he saw the slight shiver of the man's shoulders and realised that the Governor was silently laughing to himself. Rochefort pursed his lips in annoyance; he hated it when people didn't take him seriously.

"So, the peasants told you about it. I don't see why you're interested, though. Shouldn't you be on your way to your master by now? He must be growing quite anxious," Enguerrand finally said.

"I have decided to post-pone the trip. I have all the time in the world," Rochefort said.

"You know that standing up to me could get you killed. All I have to do is to call my guards and everyone would think you disappeared on your way to Spain," Enguerrand said. His tone was casual, as if he was simply discussing the weather, but Rochefort knew the man was entirely serious.

"I think your brother might be a little suspicious about that," he said.

"My brother?" Enguerrand sat up straight at this and for a moment there was an expression of worry on his face. However, he quickly covered it up with his usual blank features.

"Yes. I sent him a letter just the other day. I'm sure he will be interested in hearing about what you've been up to," Rochefort said.

Enguerrand's hands gripped the edge of the table and for a moment it looked like the large dog might rush up to his feet, but he kept himself in control and only glared daggers at Rochefort. Then his lips spread into a smile and he let out a chuckle, albeit a little nervous one.

"What makes you think my brother is even going to read your note? He is a very busy man," he said.

"With my family's crest on it, he doesn't have any other option," Rochefort said. He almost smirked at the confused look in Enguerrand's eyes.

"What?" the man asked.

Rochefort slipped his hand under his collar and pulled out the ring. He placed it carefully at Enguerrand's desk and waited for a reaction out of the man. Surely he would recognise the family crest.

And indeed Enguerrand did. He snatched the ring and brought it close to his eyes, as if he was having a hard time believing what he was seeing. After a while, he lowered the ring and turned his stare to Rochefort.

"You can't be serious," he said.

"I am," Rochefort said and took back his ring. For the first time, Enguerrand looked like he was at a loss of what to say and the man could only sit there behind his desk. He was a lot less intimidating now, and Rochefort had to wonder how he could ever have felt uncomfortable around the Governor.

"And you shouldn't even think about eliminating me. My family knows I'm here and they aren't going to buy any stories of accidents," he said. It was a lie of course, it was a good idea to cover his back in case Enguerrand got desperate.

"Maybe… maybe we can come to some kind of arrangement," Enguerrand said, licking his lips. He had gathered himself quite fast and was almost back to his silent and scary self, but it didn't matter. The damage had been done already.

"I doubt there's anything you could offer me, but if you want my advice, you should leave the townspeople alone before your brother decides to pay you a visit," Rochefort said. With that, he put his hat on his head, turned around and exited the room before Enguerrand could say another word.

Once outside, he allowed himself a rare smirk. Putting people to their place was always entertaining.

"Problem solved," he said once he was outside again. Morin was staring at him with an unbelieving expression, like he had thought that Rochefort wouldn't come back alive.

"What did you say to him?" he asked curiously.

"It doesn't matter, but I don't think the townspeople have to worry about him anymore if he knows what works best for his own interests," Rochefort said. He climbed up on his horse and gave it the command to move. He didn't want to spend one moment longer near Enguerrand's mansion.

"Come on! You can't expect anyone to believe that! People are going to get curious if you don't tell them what's going on. What did you do, threaten to kill him?" Morin asked as he hurried after his companion.

Rochefort only glanced at him from the corner of his eyes. He knew he would have to say something if he wanted to have the man off his back, but he also knew that Morin wouldn't believe just anything.

"We agreed that our talk is to be kept between the two of us," he said.

Morin rolled his eyes and let out a frustrated growl. "You really are an idiot, you know that? I don't think I have ever met a man who was as irritating as you," he said.

Funny, that's exactly what I think of you, Rochefort thought but didn't say anything. Throwing one-liners back and forth wasn't really his style.

They rode in silence for a while before Morin decided to speak again. "About the sword…" he started, but Rochefort interrupted him.

"Didn't we already discuss that?" he snapped. What was wrong with the stupid fox? Why couldn't he just get it through his thick skull that Rochefort didn't want to talk about that subject, not now or ever?

Morin sighed. "Do you know why I was so hard on you that first day?" he asked.

"Because you thought I was a scoundrel who only wanted to take advantage of the townspeople," Rochefort said, his irritation not having faded the slightest.

"Yes, but you have to understand me. I've met plenty of men like that and… well, there was a time when I wasn't the most honourable of men either," Morin said. His voice turned quieter towards the end and he kept his eyes fixed on the road ahead.

Rochefort glanced curiously at the man. It was a rare occasion when the cheerful fox grew silent on his own.

"You mean you were a bandit?" he asked. Though he tried, he couldn't imagine Morin as one. The man was too virtuous and self-righteous to have been in that line of work.

"Nah. I was among the King's guards in this port town in north," Morin said.

"So?" Rochefort asked. True, he didn't value most soldiers very much, but even he had to admit that some of them showed signs of competence every now and then. The Cardinal's Guards in Paris had simply been a really bad outtake, probably because of their bumbling Captain. Besides, there wasn't anything dishonourable about serving the crown.

"Do you even know what the guards do?" Morin asked, a hint of annoyance in his voice.

"I'm not an idiot. They maintain order, apprehend criminals and troublemakers and protect the citizens," Rochefort said.

"In theory, yes," Morin replied.

"What are you getting at?" Rochefort asked impatiently.

"It was during my time in service that I realised how unfair the world is. Those in power claim that they are thinking of the best of the common people, but the moment their interests clash, it's time for the lower classes to go. You saw it here, and I've seen it too many times elsewhere," Morin said.

He sighed. "When I joined the guards, I thought I would be doing something honourable, but it didn't take me long to notice that everything wasn't as glorious as they'd have you believe. You can't imagine what it's like to obey orders you've been given even though they are entirely against your own moral code."

No, Rochefort supposed he didn't. After all, he had realised what he had done only after all had been said and done, so he hadn't really suffered from ill conscience in Richelieu's service.

"So, you quit," he guessed.

"Yes. Some time after I had thrown a man to jail for stealing to support his poor family," Morin said with a bowed head.

Rochefort felt like rolling his eyes. In his opinion, there was no need to be so dramatic about something like that.

"You didn't do anything wrong," he pointed out.

Morin looked at his sharply. "According to the law, maybe, but can you honestly say that it was an honourable thing to do?" he asked.

Rochefort decided that Morin probably wouldn't have liked his answer about how serving the crown came first and the pitiful masses second, so he didn't say anything. The fox seemed to read his mind, though, because he frowned angrily.

"The point is," he continued, "that I began to see the world differently after that. I could no longer serve those who abuse their power, and for a moment I thought about withdrawing to an isolated life, maybe in a monastery. Then I realised that willowing in self-pity wouldn't do any good, so I decided to start travelling and see if I could do anything to help."

"And that's why you targeted me," Rochefort concluded. He couldn't say Morin's story had been very surprising or even interesting, but he thought he could understand the man's determination a little better now.

"Yes, but that's not important. I told you this because I think you've gone through something similar, but you're yet to make the right decision," Morin said.

Rochefort actually stopped his horse at that. "Excuse me?" he asked.

"Whatever you did in the past can't be terrible enough to justify giving up your sword forever. You obviously have skill and I've seen you show your honour. It would be a waste if you spent the rest of your life sulking instead of doing something good," the fox stated matter-of-factly.

For a moment, Rochefort could only stare. Then his face twisted in annoyance and he told his horse to continue. "You have no idea what you're talking about," he said.

"Why are you so stubborn? If you thought about this logically…" Morin said.

That reminded Rochefort of what Richelieu had said to him when he had told the Cardinal his opinion on poisoning Dogtanian, and he clenched the bridle in his hands. Honour wasn't something that had to make sense. Morin should have understood that, especially since his own tale about the poor family was just as illogical.

"I made a vow in front of a man better than what I could ever be," he said, hoping it would finally make Morin back off.

"If he's such a good man, he would agree with me," Morin commented.

Fortunately for Rochefort, they arrived back at the town soon after that, so the uncomfortable conversation was cut short. He made it clear that he didn't want to talk with the fox at the moment, so thankfully Morin left him alone.

Rochefort decided to get his final task done and write a letter to his sister about the money. He wasn't certain what he'd say to her, as they hadn't been in any kind of contact in a while and he didn't think she would be happy to hear what he had to say. Then again, a letter asking for money would just further confirm her opinion of him as a reckless adventurer, and that might please her enough to comply with his wish.

* * *

Later that day, he discovered that Morin wasn't quite done with his arguments yet. Piers's sword was hanging neatly from a hook in Picard's stables right next to Rochefort's horse. He glared at it with annoyance as he passed it and tried to push it away from his thoughts.

That, however, turned out to be more difficult than he had expected. On the road with Morin he had been certain that he was right and that there was nothing more to be discussed, but now that he was alone, he found himself wondering about Morin's words. It was a lot easier to disagree with the annoying man when he was present.

He turned back to look at the sword. He had already broken his vow once, but there had been no choice, so he didn't think it counted. Still, he was bothered by how naturally and without thought he had picked up the sword and how much he had enjoyed handling it. He hadn't been feeling completely himself ever since he left Paris, and not only because he was troubled by his servitude to Richelieu; a reason just as important was that he didn't feel complete without a sword.

If he was entirely honest with himself, he couldn't deny it that there was nothing more he wanted than to pick up a sword again and continue his life as a cavalier. He hadn't done so because of the vow he had given in front of the Musketeers and Dogtanian, and as stupid as it sounded, that was the main reason he still hadn't done it.

He would have liked to tell himself that he didn't consider himself worthy of a sword anymore, or that he was punishing himself for the wrongs he had committed, but neither was true, at least not anymore. He knew he wouldn't serve Richelieu, or anyone like him, ever again and he didn't think there was anything to be gained by beating himself over something he couldn't change. The time he had spent in this town had only shown him how much more he could have done if he had had a sword.

No, the problem was the vow. If he ever had to stand before Dogtanian again, Rochefort wanted the Musketeer to think of him as a man who stood by his word and didn't break his promises when it best suited him. That last duel between them had been shameful enough, he didn't want Dogtanian to see him in an even worse light.

"Here you are, monsieur Fort. I've been looking for you everywhere!" came a cheerful voice and Rochefort lifted his head to see Amélie standing at the door.

She looked a little tired and her fur was not as neat as he had learnt to expect, but other than that it was impossible to tell what kind of stress she had been through the previous night. He was glad she was seemingly taking the experience well; there were quite enough problems in her life to worry about.

"Did you want something?" he asked.

"To thank you, of course! I didn't have the chance to do so yesterday," Amélie said.

"I only did what I had to. It wasn't anything," Rochefort said with a dismissive wave of his hand. Being treated like a hero right after his earlier pondering felt absurd.

"Don't be so modest. First you saved Ninette, then me. You deserve all the praise you get," Amélie insisted. Since she didn't mention it, Rochefort guessed her father hadn't told her anything about his promise to pay for re-building the inn. Gagne probably thought he wasn't going to go through with it and didn't want to disappoint his daughters.

Amélie spotted the sword hanging on the wall and her yes brightened. "Oh! You decided to keep it, then? I'm glad," she said.

"What? No, I think it was Morin who put it there," Rochefort said quickly.

"But you are going to keep it, right? You shouldn't travel without a sword when you're so good with it," Amélie insisted. Rochefort wondered briefly if Morin had made her come and talk to her, or whether his annoyingness had just rubbed off to her.

"What happened yesterday was an exception. I don't handle swords," he said, sounding a little more irritated than he wanted to.

Amélie lifted her brows in surprise, but didn't ask why, having more respect for him than Morin, apparently.

"That's a pity," was all she said. She took a breath, as if she was about to add something, but she thought against it at the last moment. After a moment, she decided to say it anyway, "We were lucky that Piers dropped his yesterday, then."

That was true, Rochefort realised. Without a sword he wouldn't have been able to do anything and they would have both ended up hurt, if not dead. And with that thought came another one; what if he ended up in a similar situation again? Luck might not be twice on his side, and he might be unable to defend either himself or others.

He felt like he had to think about this, so he exchanged a few more words with Amélie and said that there was something he had to do. She seemed curious, but didn't ask questions as she left him alone.

Rochefort didn't know where he was going after he left this town, but he was certain that he would be faced with more trouble and difficulties, whichever direction he chose. Most of them he probably would be able to solve by talking, but it was possible he'd meet people like Marcel again. He cared about his life enough to wonder what he would do in such a case.

There was also the fact that he might have to defend others as well. To be unable to do so because he had refused to carry a weapon in his stubbornness would only shame him, and he doubted anyone, least of all Dogtanian, would look favourably upon that.

But had there been any point in his vow, then? Rochefort tried to think back to the moment, but he couldn't remember what he had thought he would accomplish by retiring his sword. The few hours after the duel were a mere blur of shame, embarrassment and pain. He doubted there had been a single clear thought in his head back then.

Supposed that he did pick up a sword again, what would Dogtanian say? Rochefort didn't like admitting it, but the young Musketeer's opinion mattered a great deal to him. All this time he had been certain that Dogtanian would want him to respect his vow, but the more Rochefort thought about it, the more obvious it seemed to him that Dogtanian would care more about what he did with a sword if he decided to handle one again.

He glanced at Piers's sword on the wall. It had been used to commit much evil by its previous owner, so in a way it was very much like Rochefort himself. It was almost poetic, the way how they both needed to do something honourable to properly redeem themselves.

With a sudden burst of determination, Rochefort took the sword from the wall and unsheathed it. It was a good sword, though not as well balanced as the one he had had in Paris. He knew he would never use _that _particular sword again, but maybe he could bring himself to handle this one so that next time he met Dogtanian, it would be as a man who didn't have to be ashamed of what he did with a blade.

**To be continued...**


	9. Epilogue

Dogtanian and the Three Muskehounds is copyrighted to BRB Internacional.

**THE LOST PATH**

**Epilogue**

Gerald looked around him in interest as he arrived at the town. It was about two weeks since they had received a letter from Rochefort, requesting a large amount of money and his squire to meet him in this small town in the middle of nowhere. There had been no details in the letter, but Gerald certainly hoped his master wasn't in any kind of trouble.

He had travelled as fast as possible, ignoring how dangerous it was for a lone traveller who was carrying as much money as he was. Luckily, the trip had been an unproblematic one and all that was left was finding Count Rochefort.

Gerald had to admit that he was pleased about meeting his master again. Rochefort's decision to travel alone without him had unnerved the squire a little and he was hoping that things might turn normal again after this.

He spotted someone working outside a smithy and decided to stop there and ask for directions. Surely everyone would know of the presence of a Count and could tell him where Rochefort was.

"Excuse me," he said to the young man.

"Yes, can I help you?" the man asked. He was mostly black and white, though that was a little difficult to tell because of the dirt on him, and probably some kind of collie.

"I'm looking for Count Rochefort," Gerald said.

The young man frowned in confusion. "There is nobody by that name in our town," he said.

Gerald felt his face fall and shoulders slump. "Oh, dear. I must have come to the wrong town. My master will kill me," he said. He had been so certain that this was the right one, and the people in the previous had told him to come straight here. What had gone wrong? And what was he supposed to do now?

"So, is this Count supposed to live here? Because we don't have any nobility around this area. The towns are too small to be of interest to them," the lad told him. Gerald could very well understand that. He knew Rochefort disliked small rural towns and wouldn't stop complaining whenever they had had to stay in one in their travels.

"No, he told me to meet him here and deliver something to him," he replied.

"Then maybe he hasn't arrived yet. I would direct you to the inn to wait, but it burned down a few weeks ago and we've barely started repairing it. If your master arrives here, he's sure to pass by our smithy. You can wait here if you want," the young man said.

"Won't I be trouble?" Gerald asked, though he felt tempted to accept the offer.

"Not at all. The blacksmith is helping to re-build the inn, so I could use the company."

That was all the persuasion Gerald needed, so he got off his horse and decided to wait outside the smithy, ready to spot Count Rochefort the minute he rode past. He and the young man, Didier by his name, spent a good while talking about everything that came to their mind. Didier was good company, but Gerald found himself unable to enjoy their discussion fully. Worry about his mission was nibbling at him and the more time went past, the more restless he became.

"I'm probably in the wrong town," he said again after a few hours had passed.

"Could be. I don't really understand why a nobleman would want to come here anyway," Didier said. He put down his hammer and looked at the wooden bars that he had been working on.

"What are those?" Gerald asked.

"These will be for the new inn. The construction is going pretty slowly because monsieur Gagne, the innkeeper, doesn't have much money to do it, but the entire town is helping," Didier said.

"Oh, that's nice," Gerald commented. Unlike Rochefort, he liked these small towns because he thought the people in them formed a much tighter and more supportive community than those in big cities.

"Yeah. We also have this man from elsewhere in town, and he has promised that he's going to pay for most of the expenses, for whatever reason. Anyway, I have to be taking these to the construction site," Didier said.

Gerald frowned at the comment about the mysterious benefactor, but he didn't say anything. It sounded too much like a coincidence to him, but he wasn't about to jump into conclusions, especially ones that made no sense.

"Can I come, too?" he asked.

"Sure, I could use the help. But what if your master arrives while you aren't here?" Didier asked.

"I don't think that's going to happen. As I said, this is probably the wrong town," Gerald said. As an afterthought, he added, "And if he does arrive, he's probably going to wait for me."

So it was decided. They loaded the bars into a small cart and started towards where the inn had used to be. Gerald measured the town as they went, coming to the conclusion that it was a very charming place indeed. He liked the rural feel of the buildings, none of which had more than three floors, and how people had left their touch on everything, whether it was a curious carving on their door or simply laundry hanging from the window. Everything was so alive.

He spotted the remains of the inn long before they arrived there, and he would have been stupid not to. Black stone walls were still standing proud and there was a gap in the town scenery where the inn had once been. All debris and ashes had been cleared away, and several men were currently measuring the scene.

"What do they need the bars for?" he asked, realising that they weren't building anything yet.

"Nothing right now, but there is no room for them in the smithy. We have to store everything in the old stables by the inn," Didier replied and pointed towards the building.

The stables were a little charred as well, but they were still standing and could be used. A few men were standing by them and discussing something, but Gerald cared about only one of them.

"Hey, that's my master over there!" he exclaimed.

"What? Where?" Didier asked, turning to look around.

"Over there, by the stables. He's the one with the black hat," Gerald said. He guessed Rochefort had arrived from another direction, seen the construction site and stopped to see what was going on.

"But that's monsieur Fort," Didier said.

"You know him?" Gerald asked in surprise.

"Yes, he's been living here for a few weeks now and even ignored his trip to Spain in order to help us," Didier said.

Gerald realised that his master must have been using an alias among these people, and he felt foolish all of a sudden. Great work at revealing his secret, he scolded himself. Still, he didn't ponder that too hard because he was more surprised to realise that his master was interested in helping these people. That was not characteristic of the Count Rochefort he knew.

"We had no idea he was a Count," Didier said, sounding uncertain all of a sudden. "But I guess that explains how he has the money."

"Please don't say anything. My master must have wanted to keep his identity a secret, and I'll be in trouble if he finds out I blew his cover," Gerald said. He certainly didn't want his first meeting with his master in weeks to be filled with angry shouting.

"Right," Didier said with a nod. He was scowling slightly, but otherwise he kept his feelings hidden well. Many others would have let their surprise show.

The men had noticed them by now and Didier stopped the cart next to them. Gerald hopped down..

"I brought what you requested, uh, monsieur Fort," he said.

"It certainly took you long enough," Rochefort said. Gerald tried to read his face to find a reason to his master's odd behaviour, but Rochefort was just as expressionless as usual. He didn't even react to the name his squire called him by.

He noticed the sword hanging by Rochefort's side and almost let out a sigh of relief. He had been worried ever since Rochefort had announced retiring his sword after that duel with Dogtanian, and he was happy to see the Count was back to normal. Gerald couldn't even begin to imagine his master without a sword.

He reached into his bag and pulled out a pouch of gold, handing it to Rochefort. The Count only nodded as a thank you and turned to one of the other men, a spaniel. The others had been watching the two of them in silence.

"As I promised," Rochefort said and gave the pouch to the man, who immediately opened it and poured the contents on his hand. His eyes widened and he looked at Rochefort in shock. Gerald guessed the man had never seen as much money before.

"But… you can't be serious!" the man sputtered once he finally managed to get something out of his mouth.

"Did you think I was joking all this time?" Rochefort asked, sounding almost insulted that someone would think he found such things funny.

"Of course not, but… but I can never pay you back!" the man insisted. Gerald guessed he had to be the innkeeper.

"I'll take that free room for life," Rochefort remarked, referring back to something Gerald didn't know. He looked carefully at the other dogs present, an orange dog who was probably the blacksmith, the innkeeper and a few other men. It was obvious that they all knew Rochefort, and the squire couldn't help wondering how the Count had been able to tolerate the company of common people for so long. He was very curious to hear the whole story, but knowing his master, he would never get all the details.

"But…" the innkeeper tried once more, but Rochefort was no longer listening. He turned his attention to Gerald instead.

"We're going north as soon as you're ready to travel," he said, which in practise meant right away.

The innkeeper looked surprised to hear that. "You're leaving, monsieur Fort?" he asked.

Rochefort nodded. "I have spent enough time here. I have things to do elsewhere," he replied.

"Surely you can stay for one day longer! Amélie and the others will want to say goodbye, and I just can't let you leave with an empty stomach after all you've done for us," the innkeeper said.

Gerald was expecting Rochefort to decline, so he lifted his brows in surprise when he heard his master agree after a moment of hesitation. He could only shake his head at that and wonder what had happened.

* * *

Rochefort had been pleasantly surprised to notice that his squire had had the sense to keep his real identity a secret. Though Gerald was a good servant in every possible way, there were times when he cursed the man's somewhat slow wits.

"Sir, there is also this letter for you," the squire said once they were out of earshot.

The Count took the letter and grimaced as he recognised his sister's curly handwriting. He considered throwing it away without reading it, but he guessed it would be less painful for him if he knew what she had written the next time he saw her. He opened the letter carefully, only to see that it was very short.

_Dear Henri, _

_How are you? If I find out that you've wasted this money on women and drink, I will personally skin you alive and then push your sword down your throat. I hope we will see each other again soon. _

_Your beloved sister, Isabelle_

He stared at the letter for a while before folding it into two and slipping it into his pocket. It was difficult to tell whether Isabelle was really angry with him, but he wasn't going to test his luck. He would have to wait at least a month or two before going home again.

"Sir, where are we going tomorrow? Back to Paris?" his squire questioned.

Rochefort had thought about it a lot during the past slow weeks in the town, and he had come to the conclusion that he wasn't going to feel like himself again before he had settled his business with Dogtanian. He couldn't imagine himself duelling with the man again, but there were things he wanted to say to him.

"Yes, we're going to Paris," he said.

**The End**


	10. Extra

This chapter should not be read before the seventh one.

**THE LOST PATH**

**Meanwhile in Paris**

Meanwhile in Paris, our hero Dogtanian was just returning from a pleasant ride in the outskirts of the city. Together with his friends Sandy and Pip, he had spent the morning enjoying a free day from the responsibilities of a Musketeer, and all three of them were now quite hungry.

"What do you say we stop by that bakery you like before we go home?" Dogtanian asked Pip. As usual, the mouse was always ready to grab a bite.

"That's a great idea, Dogtanian! Boy, I feel like I could eat a horse! No offence of course, Sandy," Pip replied from his spot by Sandy's neck. As he turned his head around to look at Dogtanian, he spotted something on the road behind them.

"Hey, someone is following us," he said

"Huh?" Dogtanian took a look back as well and sure enough, a rider was approaching them fast. The young dog told Sandy to stop so that they could wait and see if the other rider had something to say to them.

The man finally caught up with them. He was a short bulldog and looked like he had been travelling all night; his clothes were wrinkled and he had a tired and weary expression on his face. Despite this, his eyes lit up as he caught Dogtanian.

"You're one of the King's Musketeers, aren't you?" he asked.

"Yes, I am. Can I do something for you?" Dogtanian asked.

The man reached into his bag and pulled out a letter. "I was told to give this to one of the Musketeers. It needs to be delivered to someone called Enguerrand in the King's court," he said.

"I'll be happy to do it," Dogtanian said as he took the letter. Life had been a little boring ever since he had become a Musketeer, and he was ready to tackle any task that was given to him.

"Thank you so much. This really makes it easier for me," the man said.

They rode together for a while before they came by the man's house and said goodbye. Once he was done waving at the man, Dogtanian took the letter from his pocket and glanced at it.

"It has a family crest on it, so it must be important. We had better deliver it right away," he said.

"But what about those pastries?" Pip asked.

"Sorry Pip, but this is more important. You'll just have to wait until we get back to Juliet," Dogtanian said with a chuckle.

They rode to the Palace and Dogtanian left Sandy to wait outside as he went in. He always felt a little nervous in the Palace, as some of his experiences there had been more than a little unnerving. It was like accidents were preying on him.

"Excuse me, could you help me?" he asked when he spotted a servant on the corridors.

"What can I do for you, sir?" the man asked. It never stopped amazing Dogtanian how differently people treated him now that he was a Musketeer. He didn't think he had changed at all as a person, but suddenly everyone but his closest friends had started to think he was so much better and grander, like he hadn't been anyone worth knowing before.

"I was asked to deliver this letter to monsieur Enguerrand. I hear he is somewhere here," he said.

"Oh, yes. Monsieur Enguerrand is currently having a stroll in the royal garden. You can't miss him," the servant said. Dogtanian thanked him and then hurried outside again.

"Did you deliver the letter?" Pip asked. He had stayed outside to keep Sandy company.

"Not yet," Dogtanian said as he passed them. He hurried to the gardens and immediately noticed that there was someone taking a walk between the rosebushes. It was a tall black dog in a blue vest and white trousers, and Dogtanian slowed down into a walk as he got closer. At the first look, the man seemed very intimidating because of his size, but his hands were calmly crossed behind his back.

"Hello, sir. Are you monsieur Enguerrand?" he asked.

Hearing his voice, the dog turned around. "Yes, I am. What is it?" Enguerrand asked.

"I was asked to deliver this letter to you," Dogtanian said and handed over the note.

"Hmm. It's from the Rocheforts," Enguerrand said as he took a look at the crest.

"Rocheforts?" Dogtanian repeated in surprise, his thoughts immediately turning back to the duel that had taken place a few weeks ago. That whole day had been filled with surprises, first Rochefort warning him about the poison, then the duel and Milady's shameful actions, and finally Rochefort casting the final vote that had made him a Musketeer. He hadn't heard anything about the Count since then, and he couldn't help wondering what had happened to him.

Realising that he was staring, Dogtanian quickly bowed and excused himself. He was immensely curious about the contents of the letter, if only to know if it was from Count Rochefort and not one of his relatives, but he knew better than to stick his nose into other people's business now that he was a Musketeer.

"Well, that took a while," Pip said with crossed arms as Dogtanian finally reached his friends.

"Sorry, Pip. That letter was from someone in the Rochefort family," Dogtanian said. He told Sandy to take them to Juliet's house where they'd be having dinner later.

"Really? Was it Count Rochefort?" Pip asked.

"I don't know, but I almost hope so. It would mean he's still alive. It's a little worrying that he disappeared like that," Dogtanian said.

"Oh, blah. I don't see why you even care after all the trouble he caused," Pip said.

Dogtanian said nothing to that. He knew that his friend was right and that Count Rochefort had done much evil in Richelieu's service, but he was also certain that deep inside, the Count was a man of honour. He had, after all, saved his life and acted honourably in that last duel.

Dogtanian suspected that that faithful day had opened the man's eyes to that as well, and he hoped that he would meet Count Rochefort again.

**The End**


End file.
